The Limitations of Love
by Laid Bare
Summary: Faith Riddle had witnessed it all, now, twelve years on from the Death of Lord Voldemort, she is ready to tell her story
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Thursday, 16th December, 2010

On a chilly December morning on the second Thursday of the month, a young man walked with unusual briskness towards a rundown hat shop, it's entrance bordered up, the wood frail like worn amour against the world and its modernisation. The man, dressed in a shabby brown suit, looked around with unease as he approached his destination, his hazel eyes peering left and right, before muttering under his breath. "Albert Tennyson, My appointments for ten."

The man knew that the time was now ten-fifteen, and his lateness was noticeable, but didn't comment on it, not did he apologise. The bordered door creek, baring a small, narrow strip of shadows ahead. As if to move before he could change his mind, Tennyson stepped through.

"You're late," was the greeting he received as he close the door behind him, looking around to see a young woman behind a desk, head bent, not bothered to look up at him.

Clearing his throat, Albert Tennyson nodded. "Ah, yes. Sorry about that."

"She doesn't like to be kept waiting."

"I'm sorry."

The woman looked up, her blue eyes dancing with amusement. "Try telling her that." The woman rose, stepping around to meet the visitor. "This way, Mr. Tennyson."

Meekly, Albert followed, his gaze wondering around his surroundings, taking in the hush of the hospital and its deserted halls. They climbed a grand staircase; it's width suggesting that the hospital had once been of origin to a stately or manor home. They reached the second floor and the blonde woman turned a sharp left, going down a long hallway, her heels echoing off the wooden flooring. There, at the end, the last door to be found was where Mr. Tennyson was to meet his appointment. The young woman made no move to open the door, or to enter herself, instead she waited, her expression turning to one of caution. "I must warn you," she said, her hand on the door handle. "She is quite temperamental. Do not give her any reason go get aggravated. If she does," her face became perplexed, the grip on the cool metal tightening ever so slightly. "Give me a bell." With that, she opened the door and announced in an overly cheery voice. "Mr. Tennyson is here."

"He's late."

The voice came from the back of an armchair, where it's occupant was hidden from sight, apart from one small, pale hand that rested on the arm of the chair, facing the only window in the room. The coolness of the two words prompted Albert to come forward, expression sincere. "I am sorry ma'am. Muggle traffic is a dreadful thing."

"Alyssa," The soft yet cold voice sounded again. "You may now leave us."

Silently, the blonde woman left, the door shutting behind her with eagerness to be gone.

The two were left in the room, filled with an uncomfortable silence, as Albert Tennyson stared at the armchair, almost frightened to what he may find.

"Take a seat, Mr. Tennyson and perhaps, I may forgive your lateness." Feeling the need to make amends to his bad impression, Albert gingerly took the seat that was to the right of the woman. When he saw he saw who it was, he blinked, brows pulling together in confusion. The woman was more of a girl; no more than twenty, with lose curly red hair that tumbled to her waist. Freckles dotted the bridge of her creamy pale nose, setting off the vivid green in her eyes. He watched as she judged his reaction, a small, full mouth pulling up at the corners with amusement." Don't let the age fool you, Mr. Tennyson. I assure you I am whom you seek."

Albert attempted to close his mouth, but then opted for speech. "I am sorry, I never got you're name."

The young woman sighed, all traces of wry amusement gone, lost in a sea of self thought as her emerald gaze turned towards the window, looking out unto London's grey sky, where tall buildings stretched to reach it. "There are quite a few names I can be called," the cold voice was gone, filled with only a wistfulness that was tinged with sadness. "But you can call me Faith." It was now, that Albert Tennyson caught a small, lithe accent underneath her words, one he couldn't quite place.

"I believe you know why I'm here, Miss Faith?" Albert had begun to feel unease with the young girl's presence, like she harboured secrets that were slowly destroying her soul. And as to why she was in one of the words best mental hospitals was something that started to unnerve him.

"Yes," Faith's gaze had returned to Albert, her eyes unwavering, full of intensity. "You are here to interview me about Lord Voldemort. For some article or another "

The name made Albert wince, despite the man being dead for almost twelve years. Those who have lived long enough who probably always feel a spark of human fear of the name. Trying to hide both the fear and caution that was running through him, Albert pressed on. "A book," he corrected. "In your letter you said that you knew…him while he was growing up." The disbelief in his voice was obvious, despite his best efforts to hide it. The very notion of such a young woman having been alive to witness a man's childhood over seventy years ago was unfathomable. In Albert's word, where magic existed, many things were possible but even he found himself struggling to find a reason to such a claim.

"Trust me, Mr. Tennyson. What I say is true. I did know Thomas Riddle, or Voldemort as you may know him."

"Right," Albert didn't look convinced, but none the less, took out his wand and muttered a small spell under his breath. "Can you please start from the beginning?"

Faith leaned back in her chair, her slight frame seemed to be consumed by the large piece of furniture. Blinking, she smiled lazily. "My name is Faith Erin Summers, and later became Riddle. I was born on April seventh, nineteen-twenty-six."

As Albert began to protest, Faith held up her left pale hand, the back of a delicate silver ring could be seen. "Please, let me tell my story." Silently, Albert Tennyson closed his mouth and nodded.

"I come from a family of purebloods, originally from the north-west coast of Ireland. When I was five, my family and I moved from County Donegal to London."

Faith paused, her eyes closing as if to find inner strength to say what she needed to. "From an early age, my parents could tell that I showed abnormal signs of magic. When I was eight years old, an ageing healer proclaimed that I was a rare kind of witch. A time shifter."

Leaning forward intrigued, Albert asked, "A time shifter?"

"I can travel back and forward in time," Faith explained, opening her eyes as such wisdom glistened in green pools. "But not without limitations. Tea?"

Albert looked down at the table that separated their two chairs. "Um, no thank you."

He was eager to press on with their interview, but Faith Summers – or Riddle – calmly began to pour herself some. The fine boned china resembled her, both delicate and poise, yet could easily shatter and cut you if not handled in the right care, as Albert was begging to find out. Taking a dainty sip, Faith set her cup aside and continued with a newfound briskness. "The rules of shifting, you can go back in time, but you cannot alter it. You're presence is like a ghosts, you can witness, but not take part. The future, on the other hand, is another matter. It is like boarding a train from your present time and stepping into another. It is how I came to be here now, at the age that I am."

"May I ask," Albert injected. "How old you are physically?"

"No," Faith replied, one brow raised. "It's rude, but I am twenty-one – there is no physically about it – my mind and body are both twenty-one years of age, but I should actually be eight-one if I had remained in my own time."

Albert looked down at his hands, buying himself time to grasp the knowledge he had just been given. What Faith was saying wasn't impossible; it was just something that he had never heard of, and he found himself still struggling to believe what was being said.

"You mentioned earlier," he said, looking up to meet knowing green eyes. "That you were married to…Riddle."

Faith smiled again, the movements in her lips were both exotic and lazy as she watched with hooded eyes. "No, I didn't. But yes, I was married to him." She raised her left hand half-heartedly to show her marriage finger. On it, were not one, but two, small, delicate rings. One, her wedding band, was plain silver with words inscribed in a language that he couldn't understand. The second was grander, with two small emeralds set either side of a large onyx. "We married at seventeen, on August fifteenth, nineteen-forty-five. It was a small gathering, with friends and family – mine to be precise – in my birth town. To me, it would be four years now."

"I take it he had no family."

"No," Faith said casually, taking another sip of her tea. "His mother died giving birth and he killed his remaining relations during his school years."

Albert blinked, feeling his unease return. Gruffly, he pressed on. "Can you tell me the first time you met him?"

Softly, Faith smiled. "It would be our first day at Hogwarts, I noticed him while crossing the lake to get to the castle, but I only had a proper good look at him when he was called up to be sorted."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two:

Monday 1st September 1938

"Riddle, Tom." Albus Dumbledore's voice rang out into the silently buzzing hall. The darkened sky hung over-head as a small, pale boy with dark hair walked up to the front of the hall, where his future awaited him. He was small for his age, skinny, like he had never received a proper good meal, wearing clothes that were a little too big for him – obviously to last him for a great deal of time. Faith watched, along with the rest of Hogwarts as Thomas Riddle sat on the lone wooden stool, his pale, thin face solemn as the sorting had was lowered unto his head. Just as the rim brushed the faint whispers of dark locks, a clear voice bellowed into the awaiting silence. "Slytherin!"

Cheers erupted from the far left of the hall as a sea of green and silver rose, ready to meet their newest member. Faith watched him go, seeing the hollow of the boy's cheeks colour faintly as he approached the table to take his rightful place.

Two boys were called next, the fist followed Riddle to Slytherin while the second went to Ravenclaw.

"Summers, Faith." The eleven-year old Faith let out an uneasy breath as she approached the stool. Both her elder brothers, Sean and Eric, had been sorted into Slytherin, alongside their parents. The awaited decision was beginning to take toil on the young redhead as she took a seat. The urge to make her family proud was strong as the hat hovered over her red curls.

"_Hhhhmmmm, another Summers," _a silky voice sounded not in Faith's ear, but from inside her head. _"Noble and proud, both selfish and selfless, brave and cruel. Gryffindor would make you into a fine witch…"_

"No," Faith never said the word out loud, but merely thought of it. Not Gryffindor, how could she break such a strong family tradition?

"_No?" _The voice repeated. _"Very well."_

"Slytherin!"

Faith Summers let out a held breath, her face bright with relief. In years to come, she would look back at this moment and marvel at how one tiny urge to please her parents had changed her life forever. She made her way over to her house's table, sitting in between her two brothers, who both bore resemblance to their sister through red hair and freckles. "Knew you would be one of us," Sean grinned, his grey eyes looking down at Faith. "Yeah," Eric agreed, his hair was darker than his siblings, brown with eyes the same as Faith's. "You're too good to be anything else."

For the next four years, Faith would pay little attention to Tom Riddle, only to acknowledge that he was the best in all his classes, slowly gaining a group of loyal friends that would one day follow him no matter what.

Present Day, 2010

"So, at the time, you had no idea of what Riddle was to become?" Albert hungrily urged for more, watching Faith with fascinated eyes.

"That he would become one of the most powerful wizards in history?" Faith asked, two pale fingers fiddling with her wedding rings. "No, at least, not yet. I actually found his presence quite annoying at first. He seemed like the kind of student that wanted to be the best. It made the rest of us look bad." Faith smiled almost fondly. "My feelings only started to change in our fourth year. I fell in love, desperately seeking out his attention like the obsessed teenager that I was. He had become very handsome, growing into a man, and all the girls of Hogwarts noticed. He was smart, charming, handsome and very mysterious in his own right."

Albert's brow rose, one hand supporting his chin. "How so?"

"His past was murky, he didn't give much away. Always keeping himself to himself. Even those closest to him were only granted rare titbits of information after they had proved their loyalty, they're worth. And even then, they hardly knew anything at all."

"And what about you? His wife?"

"I am most probably the only person who knows everything about Tom Marvolo Riddle, sometimes even better than he knew himself."

Albert looked embarrassed, unsure what to say. "He must have loved you very much."

He watched, as Faith's small, delicate face twist into disgust, her eyes flashing with green fire. "He did, but I was never enough. His love of power was always something much greater. It was like a mistress in our relationship, whispering seductively into his ear when my back was turned, making him promises of a life that I could never give to him. I knew he wanted the life I offered him, only his hatred towards his father and all muggles in kind was too great, he could not see past it."

For a moment, the pair sat in silence, both lost in their own thoughts. Albert looked at the seething Faith, her pale knuckles turning bone white as her nails hooked themselves into the chair's material.

Clearing his throat, Albert Tennyson gently pressed Faith on. "What was the life you offered him?"

Faith blinked, looking at the man in front of her like she only just realised he was in the room. She took in his slightly lined face and pale brown eyes that were so full of questions, so innocent and young compared to her. "I wanted the little house in the country, children and a dog. He would have a respectable job that he enjoyed and I would raise his children, put dinner on the table when he came home. I craved a simple life, while he craved greatness. It is still something I find hard to accept."

Albert sensed that Faith was fragile at this moment; lost in her own pain of losing the man she loved to a monster. He wanted her to carry on, to tell him more of her story, as she slowly painted him a picture of a man the world had come to fear and hate. The fame he would receive from his book would be enormous. The cruel dictator of their world was a man who fell in love, battling his own personal evil that was slowly tearing his wife apart. It will show a side to Voldemort that no one but Faith has ever seen before. It would be their own kind's real life love story, one that could only end in tears.

Choosing his words carefully, Albert began. "So, when did you're relationship with Tom begin?"

Faith sighed, her body easing out of its tension. "It was the beginning of our sixth year, in Slughorn's potion class…"

September 29th 1944

The dungeons potions class was full, filled with both Slyherins and Ravenclaws, all buzzing with relief that their O.W.L's had passed and that their sixth year would seem easier. The room was divided, green to the left, while blue to the right. At he front of the classroom sat Tom, surrounded by other boys from his house, each of their faces held the same level of arrogance and self-confidence. Outside castle walls and protective charms, a muggle war was still raging and its effect and begun to take toll, despite talk of a soon-to-be end. Faith Summers sat at the back, lounging it her chair, surrounded by Slytherin girls, who carelessly played with each others hair as they waited for their professor to appear. After a few moments, the room quietened as a small, portly man with twinkling dark eyes breezed through the room, his moustache twitching slightly as he took his place behind his desk at the front of the class.

"Today," Slughorn boomed, his gaze sweeping over his class, taking note of the divided sea of houses yet seemed to be unconcerned. "We will be doing a practical, making a powerful sleeping draft that Healers use when dealing with a extremely difficult patient. Now, in large doses, such a potion can be used as a method of killing. Which is why it is essential that the right quantity of ingredients is used so that a pale, egg-shell blue colour is produced at the end." Smiling slightly, Slughorn's fingers twitched eagerly, causing him to flex them to suppress their need. "As you are one of my most able-bodied class, with exceptional grades, I am expecting no less than an A, though some of you may have a higher standard to reach," Slughorn's eyes flicked to Tom, whose face seemed a composed mask of both meekness and modesty. "To ensure that none of you slack for whatever reason; there will be a prize for the best potion produced." Several students sat a little straighter as Slughorn reached inside his robe pocket, pulling out a small bottle that winked suggestively in the dim under-lighting. Its contents were a rich, thick liquid gold, sealed tightly in its tiny vial. "The best potioneer will receive both Felix here and a week free from Potions homework. You may begin."

Students hastened to begin, many of their movements rushed with their own eagerness to do their task. Faith sighed, one filled with longing as she began to carefully measure out her batch of brimstone. Beside her, another young Slytherin girl leaned over. "What I wouldn't give for that Felix." She breathed, keeping her voice low, almost lost amongst the soft _clinks _of glass vials, and the scrapes of wooden spoons against the brass of their cauldrons. Faith made a low, impatient sound at the back of her throat, a sound caught between a choked snigger of disbelief and a humming purr. "I think I'd rather the week's free of homework." The other girl gave Faith a strange look. "Seriously? A bout of luck would be much more useful."

Pouring her nightshade into her beaker, Faith frowned, raising a brow. "What luck do we need? Everything we have here is served on a silver platter. I think I would prefer a week not spent in the library, trying to find the one hundred and one uses of a bezor stone. No, I'd rather be down the lake, enjoying what good weather we have left." The other girl, shook her head silently, yet did not attempt to argue further with the redhead, who was entranced with her own work. Faith Summer's gnawed at her lower lip, her green eyes fixated at the dark liquid, her wand waving in a series of complex motions, watching as the black colour soon began to bleed into a rich blue. Puzzled, Faith cocked her head to the side, brows pulling together as she wondered just what would lighten the colour, what would dilute it into a more manageable substance. "Gillyweed," She muttered under her breath, tucking a wayward red lock behind her ear. Straightening herself, Faith gave a little tug on her robes before making her way to Slughorn's supply closet, her chin jutted out slightly as she had to pass a few Ravenclaws. Many ignored her, too intent with their own work to care, yet few spared her a withering look, to which, she returned with just as much malice. When she had returned to her seat, Faith added the Gillyweed, her whole body tense as she watched the potion churn, bubbling ominously, before settling into a pale, light blue. Surprised, Faith looked up, her usually pale face was rosy from the heat of the cauldron, slightly sheen from the condensation. This close, Faith felt a little light-headed, her thoughts seemed a little hazy as she battled to stifle a yawn. Swaying slightly, Faith moved her chair further away from her table, sinking into it gratefully, using her spare time to see how far her peers were. One Ravenclaw's potion had too much brimstone, leaving it a nasty grey colour, whist a few Slytherin's were fighting to change that dark black colour into a blue.

Faith's gaze fell on a figure at the front, which seemed at ease, confident with the work being produced. _Pride comes before a fall, Riddle_. Faith thought with wry amusement, her lips tugging into a half-smile as she watched him add his Gillyweed. It did not matter; Riddle would win once more, like he always did. While many envied Thomas Riddle for his uncanny ability to be the best, Faith had soon come to accept the fact that he had something that she lacked. He simply had the drive to be the best, whereas Faith was content to be in the background, never having to live up to anyone's expectations asides from her own. Riddle could have the glory, for she did not want it.

Minutes later, Slughorn called the class to a standstill, a few students hastily rushing to do their final touches. With a slightly bemused smile, Slughorn began his rounds, inspecting each with a cold, critical eye. As he did so, Faith began to pack up her things, eager to get to lunch. As Slughorn drew to the back, he paused at Faith's, inhaling deeply and scribbling a few notes down on the piece of parchment in his hand before continuing.

"Well," the professor said at last. "I must say, many of you exceeded yourselves today, though some of you have let yourselves down a bit." Slughorn paused, truly looking crestfallen at the idea that not all his students had lived up to his expectations. "But there can only be one to claim the wonderful prize of Felix Felicis and a week-free of potions homework. Miss Summers, come collect you winnings."

Faith looked up from packing her bag, her lips parted in shock as Slughorn beamed at her, whilst many looked at her with envy. With a little prodding from the other Slytherin girl, Faith regained some form of composure and righted herself, before making her way down to Slughorn with a nervous smile. As she passed Riddle's table, her eyes flickered towards his cauldron, seeing his concoction as too pale, almost a pure white. _Too much Gillyweed_. She thought, raising her gaze to Riddle. Dark eyes glared back into her green ones, rich and intense with an unfounded hatred, ringed with their own disbelief.

Faith blinked and in that moment, Riddle's face became a pleasant mask, one devoid of any dark emotions Faith had just seen, causing her to question whether she had truly seen it at all.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three:

Present Day, 2010

"So, it wasn't love at first sight?" Albert asked, his face flushed wit his own growing eagerness for Faith Summers' tale. Already, he could see the fame such a book would bring, a story that no one alive knew. The inner writer in him wished he could have a Riddle to interview, regardless of the thousands of lives that suffered under his cruel power.

Faith regarded Albert with assessing green eyes, eyes that seemed to peer right into his soul, seeing all his hopes, fears, desires and felt nothing, nothing but the grim certainty that would only disappoint him, like it had with her. Her morbid outlook on life was a result of her having to grow up, too fast. She had witnessed the death of Thomas Riddle, before the death of Voldemort. She had grieved, had felt pain, had cursed his name with such hate and venom, until Faith had come to accept that the life she had craved was never meant to be. She was only twenty-one, yet Faith Summers felt so, so old.

"No." Faith said softly, her mind seeming elsewhere, trapped in her own pensive thoughts. "No, I found him attractive – yet his arrogance and attitude – I couldn't stand. After that memorable potions lesson, we became more aware of each other and the more we became aware, the more we found faults."

"Not like Romeo and Juliet, then?" Albert's voice was riddled with disappointment, feeling as though a great opportunity had just passed him by.

Amused with his obvious dejection, Faith shook her head, taking another sip of her tea, yet not actually tasting it. "More like Beatrice and Benedict."

When the young witch received a blank look, she gave an irritated sigh, disapproval emitting from her fine-boned features. "You really should brush up on your Shakespeare Mr. Tennyson. Benedict was a man who loathed the idea of wedding, just as much as Beatrice abhorred the very notion of being subjected to a marriage with an insufferable man. The pair masked their feelings for each other with sharp, witty words, trying to fool the world as well as themselves that they hated each other. There were many girls at Hogwarts who would be more than willing to fawn over Tom; I believe I offered something more – a challenge, an equal. Whilst Tom and myself were different in many ways- we both demanded respect."

Albert blinked, feeling as though he had just be scowled at by his scary Great aunt Greta, the kind of woman that always sat straight, have a sharp tongue and used to hiss at him to remember his manners. Cleaning his throat nervously, Albert reminded himself that the young woman in front of him was no more than a girl, regardless of the era she had come from.

Albert watched as Faith forced a smile. He knew that smile – anyone who attended Hogwarts would. It was the smile of a Slytherin, a Slytherin who was struggling not to smirk, trying to remind themselves that in the real world – outside the walls of Hogwarts – people did not take to kindly to being looked down upon. Yet lingering amusement remained in those deep green depths. She was mocking him – deeming him unworthy as an equal.

A flash of anger coursed through Albert, and he had to hold his tongue from spitting out spiteful words about Faith's deceased husband. That she may have loved him, but more than most of the world hated him and rejoiced that his corpse lay rotting in the ground where it can do no more harm.

Blinking, Albert let out a steady sigh, attesting to console himself with the though that Faith's cooperation was needed for his book – and that it would be a treasure, his lucky break – as a writer.

"Yes, but when did your relationship with Riddle begin?" his impatient was clearer than what he would have hoped, and mentally Albert Tennyson cursed himself for not having better control.

Albert watched as Faith cocked her head to the side, studying him with illuminating green eyes. For a moment, she did not look like an arrogant and sniggering Slytherin, but an attractive young woman. In fact, in Albert's eyes, it was easy to see why such an evil dictator such as Voldemort, had come to love Faith Summers. While 'love' may be the operative term, Albert could see the tiny, delicate Faith standing stubbornly at her husband's side. The pair must have made an attractive couple, at least, when Voldemort was young and looked halfway human.

It took Faith a long moment to respond, he eyes still regarding the man in front of her with a curious, almost suspicious light. "There are a lot of answers to that question. Tom would have said the first time we kissed, my friends would say the first time we dated."

"And you?"

Faith smiled, and Albert stared, stunned as her pale face became something beautiful, a rare look of girl-ish innocence lighting her angular features. A small bushed seemed to have bloomed across her sculptured cheekbones, though it could have just been the heat of the rising steam of her tea.

"It was probably about a week after I won the Felix."

_October 6th 1944_

"Tom Riddle is looking at you again," Darcy Edwards giggled in a conspiring whisper, her round face flushed with excitement. Faith Summers sighed, marking the page of her book before closing it. The two sat on one of the plush couches by the fireplace; its tangible orange frames seemed to warn of the chill of the Slytherin common room. The early Wednesday evening was swiftly bleeding into night, with the grey sky darkening into deep ebony. Despite this, many Slytherins still lingered in the common room, favouring company than actually sleep. Many sixth years seemed to be working on their long potions essay, which gave Faith an immerse rush of pleasure and pride to know that she was not among them. Quickly scanning the many faces within the common room, Faith found a familiar face watching her with an equal level of distrust and disliking. Darcy seemed oblivious to the glare that Faith was receiving, but probably deemed any attention – positive or not – was good attention.

Faith returned his glare openly; something that had not gone unnoticed by many of their peers, thought most had become accustomed to the frequent exchange. The looks and the catty comments had been flowing thick and fast between the two, ever since Faith had 'stolen' Slughorn's prize from Riddle. Thought the two had done nothing more than bait each other, there had been a grown amount of tension, hidden beneath the surface, churning ominously, laying in wait for the idea moment. When neither succumbed to the other's gaze, the students became to stir restlessly, their unease impregnating the air.

It had long become a battle of will between Tom and Faith, who would be the first to look away, the one to say the last word. There were times when Faith grew tiresome of Riddle's games and allowed her pride to take a bruise, though increasingly, Faith had come to look forward to what Riddle had to say next. Obnoxious or not, Thomas Riddle was an intellectual individual and proved to be an endearing person to spar words with.

From the corner of her eye, Faith could see her last remaining brother at Hogwarts, Eric, shake his head, his eyes seemed to ask her to back down. It was common knowledge to Faith that the middle Summers child had become one of the growing number of students that had begun to follow Riddle, hanging on to his every word and doing the most shameless of things to get a mere shred of Riddle's attention.

Faith felt shame and embarrassment for her brother, though she would never say it to his face. Worshiping Riddle was degrading and Faith had always though Eric better than that. She was only glad that Sean had left when he did, three years ago, and not having to be subjected to such humiliation.

All this time, Riddle had continued to hold her gaze, and she, his. The urge to blink was starting to grow – a mundane need that seemed to interfere with such an important act of strength. It was like the need to scratch your nose when you were dangling two hundred feet above the ground, with nothing to keep you supported but your own two hands.

Faith raised an eyebrow and smirked, hoping her bravo of confidence could intimidate Riddle enough to look away first. Instead, he just raised his dark brows at her in return, his own smile touching his lips. Though his held a challenge to it, one that unnerved Faith, making her right hand twitch slightly for her wand, which lay within the folds of her robes. Sending Riddle one last look of contempt, Faith looked away, indulging herself in blinking, taking pleasure from such a trivial act.

Mere seconds had passed when Faith caught movement at the corner of her eye. She moved just as fast as he did, drawing their wands until they both stood, opposite ends of the room, the same fighting stance, wands raised to strike. The pair stared at each other, eyes locked, seeming to bore into the other. They both waited, waiting to see who would make the first move, which would cross that invisible, unspoken line the pair had drawn since this ongoing war began.

Faiths patients had begun to come frayed, the muscles in her right arm, beginning to protest in the locked stance they were in, her aim becoming slightly off focus. She was reluctant to be the first to cast. In the end it always boiled down to the fact that Thomas Riddle had the drive that Faith Summers did not.

With swiftest snap of his wrist, Riddle sent a bolt of yellow light at Faith. Having no time to deflect it, Faith dived to her left, narrowly missing Darcy in the process. She was acutely aware that the room had fallen silent – or perhaps it was screeching with noise, and she just couldn't hear it. The confounding jinx seemed a bit juvenile for Riddle's taste, but the smirk etched on his lips told Faith that he had every intention of toying with her, of embarrassing and humiliating her before he displayed his expertise to her and their peers.

Feeling a sneer curls at her lips, Faith steeled her spine and with a harsh, jerking movement, sent a blinding jet of white light towards Riddle's tall, imposing frame. Riddle deflected the curse with ease, yet his eyes were momentarily unfocused, the blinding curse still leaving an impression on the young wizard.

Feeling a surge of adrenaline course through her, Faith took advantage of the momentarily distracted Riddle and sent another powerful bolt hurdling towards him. With satisfaction, Faith watched as Tom Riddle flew through the air, his body hitting the wall. A few of his followers rushed to his aid, though Riddle waved them away, his eyes burning though Faith with such intensity that the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

In a blurred motion, Faith in return felt her body become airborne. She heard her head hit the corer of the table, before she felt it. The sound was deafening, a sick _crack_ that seemed to fill the silence, seemed to consume all of Faith's attention. It seemed like years later before Faith felt the telltale sign of warm, thick blood sluggishly making its way down the side of her face. There were hands trying to pull her up, those she pushed them away. She had only blinked when a hand appeared in her line of vision, longer, pale and slender, artist's hands.

With a scowl, Faith clumsily batted it way and somewhere in the distance; she could hear the ring of amused laughter. Narrowing her eyes hurt, though Faith seemed to manage, out of sheer stubbornness. She could still hear a low chuckle, one that seemed to be directed at her, one that held surge her on to raise her wand and utter one last curse. In slow motion, Faith watched as Riddle's distinctive frame crumple ad fall, hitting the ground beside her. Their eyes seem to lock across the small stretch of carpet, just as professors spilled into the common room and Faith's world went black.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four:

_Present Day, 2011_

"The beginning of your relationship with Riddle was when he cracked your skull open?" the scepticism, boarding on sarcasm on Albert Tennyson's voice rang clear in his disbelieving tone. Whilst Albert had heard pretty outrageous things since his interview with Faith had begun, he found such information hard to grasp.

Faith raised a delicate russet brow, her face remaining a stoic mask. "Yes, I believe that is what I said." The witch had once found the wizard's ignorance amusing, if not, tolerable. Now, his presence was nought but a nuisance. Letting out a long-suffering sigh, Faith shook her head, long flame curls gleaming.

"It was at that point that Tom had realised that I was a possible match for him, an equal. You see – our relationship was based competing, always testing the other's will."

"It sounds like a tiresome relationship."

"No." Faith's voice had turned thoughtful, her green eyes glassing over. "No," She repeated with an upturned smile on her lips. "At first, it was wonderful. For a while, Tom seemed to forget his greater plans, forget his little followers. I had become the most interesting and magical thing in his life. Whilst Tom hated things not going his way, he enjoyed the challenge I offered him."

Albert frowned, the lines in his aging face becoming more prominent. "And what about later?"

Giving her companion a wary smile, Faith shook her head. "You are getting too ahead of yourself Mr Tennyson. After our fight and recovery, we both spent a great deal of time together in detention."

October 9th, 1944

Faith Summers gazed into the large, brass cauldron, her green eyes narrowed into slits as tried – unsuccessfully – to remove a stubborn, mysterious, hardened lump that lied deep within. With one hand on the gaping rip to support her, Faith's body sunk deeper into the eager mouth, half her body consumed greedily.

Thomas Riddle watched with slight amusement as Faith's corpse hung prostrated in mid air, in such an undignified position. From where he stood, leaning lazily against Slughorn's desk, Riddle could see the young witch's bared thighs, which lead up to the creamy white mount of her ass and lacy black underwear.

Tom found the sight pleasing, his dark eyes alight as he watched Faith struggle to fulfil her duties set by their head of house. "I don't know why you bother," he said casually, once again attempting to strike conversation. "The fact that old Slug is not here proves that he doesn't actually care." Tom wasn't surprise when Faith continued to ignore him, her increased efforts the only indication that she had heard him at all. After the pair had recovered from their injuries – Faith's more serious than his – the two had been forced to serve a punishment of two weeks assisting Horace Slughorn. Of course the aging wizard had set them trivial tasks, seeming unconcerned that they had not managed to finish when asked. After a couple of days, Tom had found it acceptable to relax, though his partner in crime seemed to disagree.

"It's about the principle," Faith muffled reply came at last, her voice strained with effort as she struggled with the unknown substance. From the bowels of the large cauldron, Faith could just about hear Riddle's disdainful snort. "So we duelled? I don't see the fuss…"

"Well, you won't, would you?" Faith's cutting retort seemed to echo with her frustration. "Oh, sweet Salzar's sake…" she muttered, reaching for her wand. "This stain…"

Tom watched as other profundities were uttered from deep with the charred cauldron, Faith's increasing efforts had only proved futile and more entertaining. There was a deliberate and distinctive hiss emitting from the cauldron, moments before a dark tendril of smoke began to rise. Raising a brow, Tom asked. "What have you done now?"

"Oh – just stick your wand up your arse!" Tom had come to know that Faith Summers' Irish accent thickened when she was repressing some emotion or another, it was a trait that he was still unsure whether he liked or not. On one hand, it gave him an insight to what the stubborn wench was thinking. Yet, it also proved Faith to be a bigger mystery to him. What was she thinking? Why was she upset? Was it him?

Irritated, Tom silently produced his own wand, a smirk tugging his lips at the thought of what he was about to do.

With a lazily, half-hearted movement, Tom flicked his wrist, watching with growing humour as Faith Summers' form rose, and then tumbled completely into the awaiting mouth of the beastly cauldron. Chuckling, Tom watched as two pale hands appeared at the rim, before a pale, dirt-streaked face also came into view. Summers' face was contorted with antagonism, green eyes seeming to burn with her own fury.

For a moment, Riddle was caught off guard by the sight, torn between a strange for of amusement that boarded on fondness and an alien feeling of admiration for the fierce look she had managed to conjure.

"What?" she demanded after a moment, rising. Even in full form, her elfin frame seemed to be swallowed by the cauldron. Her hands rested rigidly on her hips, her lips puckered into a ferocious scowl. "What?" she asked again, her voice becoming hesitant under Tom's intense stare.

Blinking, Tom shook his head; dispelling the trace the manipulative witch had put him under. "Nothing."

Perplexed, Faith sighed, dropping her own gaze. She had sense a change between the strange and somewhat familiar association with Thomas Riddle. This new and foreign rapport had left Faith mystified at what to do or where she stood. The unspoken rules seemed to have changed, transformed. Faith was still unsure whether the change was for the better, or for the worse.

Now that her attention had turned away from Riddle, Faith faced the undertaking of extracting herself from a cauldron that was over half her size. Exasperated at why Slughorn even bothered with the medieval contraption anymore, Faith hoisted one leg over the brim, self-conscious of how her skirt seemed to move up her bare legs and more than aware that Riddle had turned his attention back to her. "Here," Tom said after a moment of watching her struggle with dismounting with dignity. Faith had the unfathomable suspicion that Riddle seemed to enjoy her discomfort, which would be reasonable since the boy was an obnoxious, arrogant masochist who enjoyed watching her make a fool of herself.

As if to remind herself of her last humiliation, Faith's head throbbed dully, slow ebb that was in time with her pulse. She hated that she had come out of their bawl bruised and broken, while Tom remained un-scattered and as suave as ever. Faith watched as Tom gave her another indecipherable look, one that she was unsure what to make of. Whatever had changed between the two, they both felt a level of distrust for each other. Before, it had been mere competing, not entirely harmless, but there were rules, ones they both understood.

Leisurely, Tom made his way towards Faith, his remote expression unyielding as he regarded her diminutive form straddling the rim of the gaping pot. Silently, he offered her his hand, not unlike he had nights before, when he had believed their fight over. The hilarity of the similar scene caused Faith to bite down on her bottom lip, suppressing the sudden urge to laugh, with her face remaining as nonchalant as possible, Faith took his presented hand.

She watched with growing mirth as understanding flitted through his dark eyes, before Faith tugged on his hand with a force that surprised them both. Together, they tumbled into the bottom of the waiting brass; their bodies a mass of tangled limbs. "Get off," Faith hissed, shoving a warm, solid form away from her, her feet struggling to find purchase.

"_What?"_ Riddle's face came into view, suspended of Faith, his scowl mirroring hers. "It was you who pulled me in here!" The disbelief rang clear in his voice, filled with accusation and protest. This close, Tom could feel the chill of her skin, undoubtedly due to the minimal clothing that Summers' seemed so persistent to wear, despite the October cold. His supporting arms seemed to trap her, pinning her to the damp, eroded metal. The swell of her chest, overstated by her deep, shallow breathing, seemed to miss his with just a breath between them.

"Yeah?" Faith replied softly, her efforts of escaping ceasing. "And I suppose it was the leprechauns that pushed me in?" She watched as a small smile tugged at the corner of Riddle's lips. "Don't be foolish," he said, voice low. "There are no leprechauns at Hogwarts."

"Then it must have been you." Green eyes watched as dark, rich brown seemed to grow closer as Tom lowered his head to meet Faith's.

"Faith? Tom?"

The pair froze, comprehension growing on her faces as the voice of Horace Slughorn filled the room. They could only gape at each other in silent horror as two faces came into view, hovering over them.

"See Albus?" Slughorn chuckled as the pair scrambled to their feet. "I told you detention would work – though I must admit that I would never have thought so well!"

Slughorn's face, rosy and slightly sheen, beamed at the pair, his good-natured humour unaffected by the three stoic faces. Faith felt her cheeks burn, fighting to keep a guilty look off her face. "I…it's not how it looks, Professor's," she found herself blurting out. The phrase seemed inadequate and seemed to hang in the air, causing three pairs of eyes to look her way. "I believe that yourself and Mr Riddle should be on your way," Dumbledore answered, ignoring Faith's attempt to clear her name. "Such behaviour isn't appropriate for detention." His twinkling blue eyes flickered to Tom, who seemed indifferent to the reproachful stare.

"Ah, now Albus," Slughorn soothed. "The young will be young." he gave Faith a friendly wink. "Try not to get caught next time, eh?"

Fait felt her face burn afresh, her chipped, glinting green gaze glaring accusingly at Riddle. "Yes Professor."

"Right," Slughorn said cheerfully, "Out you get." Offering his hand to Faith, not unlike Tom had, Faith gratefully took the support. Clamouring out, careful to avoid three watchful gazes, Faith straightened her skirt, grabbed her bag and walked out without looking back.

Present Day, 2010

"So the incident in detention marked the beginning of your rapport with Riddle?"

Faith smiled, taking her time to pour herself more tea. "Not quite," she mused, setting down the fine china. "It was the beginning of our…" she paused, mulling over a word. "Attraction? No, magnetism. We began to view each other as more than rivals, but as woman and man. Something more basic, but no less important. We became more aware of our hormones – needs that our teenage bodies demanded for with such persistence. At the time, we both fooled ourselves into believing that our minds were the most powerful, most influential part of our beings. We forgot that we were merely sixteen and that logic does not always triumph over lust."

Albert coughed, an awkward sound, his face turning high with colour. "I suppose," he began. "That you both gave into these…urges?"

Faith sipped her tea, her tiny pale fingers holding the porcelain with an artful grace. "Do you remember your teenage years, Mr Tennyson?" she asked suddenly, her curious gaze bearing more weight to match the light, nonchalant tone. "Do you remember how a physical need can override any form of reason, how it can leave you lying awake at night wondering the taste, the feel of their skin if you could only just give in?"

Faith watched as the elder wizard gaped at her, speechless due to his own embarrassment. Ignoring his undignified expression, Faith continued. "To us, it was another battle of wills, who would be the first to give into our desire of the flesh, who could resist?"

Clearing his throat, Albert Tennyson attempted to regain composure over his face. "So, who won?"

Albert watched as a slow smile spread across Faith's features, alighting her eyes with mischief, giving her the uncanny appearance of a flame-haired pixie that had every intention of tricking you. It was a wild, carefree look that made Albert wonder if this was the face that Tom Riddle saw when the young witch had outwitted him, the face she wore when they both realised that Faith Summers had the upper hand.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five:

October 16th, 1944

"You have been avoiding me."

Faith Summers' didn't bother to look up from her book, but she now had lost her trail of thought, a common trait that had come about when in the presence of Tom Riddle. His voice was mingled with wry amusement and a tone of accusation with no real affliction. It wasn't a question either, a statement that hung in the air between them.

"Have I?" Faith asked, forcing her gaze to move along with the words, which now had lost meaning. When she realised that neither of them bought her act, Faith sighed irritably, closing the book to glare at Riddle. "And what about you?" she snapped, watching his brow quirk in question.

"What about me?" he asked, drawling out the question in a way that was like nails on a chalkboard for Faith.

"You've been following me," she indicted. "I do believe that stalking doesn't go down well with the school rules."

"I have been stalking you?" Riddle's pale features glowed with mirth as he regarded Faith's darkening expression. The sight seemed endearing to him, even more so that he could cause it.

"Stop that," she muttered, turning her gaze back to her book, studying the spine with mild interest. When her emerald gaze flickered up towards him, Faith watched as a luxurious smile broadened his face. "Stop what?" he asked, his dark eyes illuminated as he mocked her; aware of what he was doing.

"Answering my question with another bloody question." Faith's voice was louder than what she intended, receiving a withering look from the age crone that called herself the librarian. Faith recognised the look on Riddle's face, the one that was alight with jeering humour. His mouth was parting – no doubt to pose another sly question at her in an attempt to aggravate her. Shaking her head, Faith rose; book in hand as she made her way deeper into the heart of the library.

The smell of musty, matured books that had witnessed far more than she ever had, seemed to bore down at her, judging her worth in their majestic presence. She could feel a familiar echo of footsteps behind her, a strange mingle of fear and excitement alighting her body, in a frenzy of tingles. Smiling inwardly to herself, Faith plunged further, taking time to make a show of studying a couple of hardbacks as she pressed on.

The two remained silent, yet comprehension hung in the air between them, a silent hum that waited, pressing against them with its own eagerness to match their own. Faith paused, placing her book back on its shelf, her body stretching on tiptoe to reach. From behind, she could feel the press of heat, accompanied by a brush of solid strength. Wordlessly, Riddle took the thick book from Faith's hands, placing it with ease on the high shelf. The two stood there, suspended in time, lost in a place where the feel of one another was all that mattered. Slowly, Faith turned, her heart in her throat as her gaze was met with dark eyes that seemed bottomless. In them, Faith could see herself staring back, her own mossy green eyes holding the same need, same physical desire as Tom's.

For a moment, the pair just stood there, gazing at the other, incinerated by the knowledge that their want matched, like much about them. How to conflicting people could be so alike, so equal.

Tom watched Faith, watched the way her full lips parted to release tiny, excited breaths, this close, he could feel the tiny tremors that quivered through her tiny, dainty, frame. The beat of her fast paced heart echoed through her chest to his, a growing crescendo, harmoniously singing together, fervently surging the pair on, until their pinnacle moment.

Their lips brushed.

Faith's eyes closed, enjoying the sensation of their mouths tracing once another, tentatively sensations, that seemed alien to them. Pale hands caressed the smooth skin of Faith's thigh, encouraging it to be raised, resting against Tom's hip, as he pressed closer. Her hands snaked around his neck, winding through surprisingly soft stands of rich, chestnut hair. Tom's other hand found itself rest against the hollow of Faith's neck, there he could feel the flutter of her pulse, a caged thing desperate for escape.

The heat between had become almost feverish, burning until they seemed consumed by their own need. Suddenly, their innocent exchange wasn't enough – did not satisfy the raging lust that overwhelmed their senses

Cupping her cheek, Tom's lips became more fierce, Faith's lips parted, willing to comply. The two basked in the new ambience that encase the couple, shaking them until they became slaves to their own covet. A soft moan escaped Faith's lips, mingling with Tom's, his hand eagerly playing along the underside of Faith's thigh, enjoying the soft shudders at the feel.

"No," Faith began to struggle under Tom's embrace. Confused, he released her, watching as she stumbled away, lips red and swollen, cheeks high in pale colour. She looked dazed, yet her eyes seemed ablaze with her own stubbornness. "No," she repeated, her voice more forceful as she regarded him, yet her lip trembled, a telltale sign that Faith had yet to convince herself.

Tom sighed, feeling the chill from the absence of her body against his. He could still taste her on his lips, the sweet vanilla of her breath, mingle with mint and the unique sent of Faith. Licking his lips, Tom watched as Faith pushed back copper curls, small white teeth worrying at her bottom lip. Silence settled on them once more, the kind that screamed to be filled, for the dark void would swallow them whole if they didn't.

"I don't think this is a good idea," she said softly, after a long stretch of silence. "Us, I mean."

"Why not?" Tom demanded, his voice low and harsh, one hand jutting out to push back his hair in frustration, the cat forceful and bordering in painful. Taking relish in the distraction, Tom Riddle could now allow himself to focus on something – anything – rather than the young witch before him. He watched as Faith's spine steeled, her chin jutting out, as if preparing herself for a blow. "Because you can do better?" the words tasted bitter in his mouth, causing him to gladly spit them out, relishing the hot, burning anger that swelled inside of him. It was welcome, anything was to chase away the feel of her on his skin, taste on his tongue. The manipulative witch was toying with him, slowly undoing him.

Tom watched as Faith's expression hardened, her full lips pressing into a severe line. "Because you are an arrogant, obnoxious ass and I _can_ do better. What make you think that you can follow me about, then swan in and think that you have any right to…to…_treat me like a tart_!"

Her shrill words made Tom flinch, his dark gaze regarding her with intensity as she struggled to compose herself. Her small hands were balled into fists, shaking at her sides as he guessed; she had to restrain herself from striking him.

Feeling his lips curl into an unpleasant smile, Tom bared down at her, noting how her head barely passed his shoulders. "Maybe I would if you stopped acting like one. Flaunting yourself is not without consequences."

"Flaunting?" The disbelief in her voice was harp, a thick, tangible substance made real to the lilt in her accent. "How…how…dare –"

"Must I remind you that this is a library?" The low hiss that seeped from the librarian's thin lips cause both Tom and Faith to look at her, the identical expression of guilt and annoyance clear on their features. "If you can't control yourselves, I suggest you take your dispute outside, or I will have to get Professor Dipplet." The pair returned to staring at each other, their glares seething, breathing slightly laboured. "Don't bother," Faith spat out her words, her hand fidgeting with her skirt. "I'm going." Brushing past Tom, Faith could feel his eyes on her long after she had left the library.

Present Day, 2010

"Why _did_ you pull away?" Albert asked, confusion clouding his features. Now, he hung on to Faith's ever word, for each she uttered was pure gold. He was eager to hear more, yet he couldn't seem to fathom why Faith Summers resisted something she wanted so much "You both obviously wanted the same thing."

"Did we?" Faith asked wistfully. "Want the same thing?"

"I…" Albert struggled, much to Faith's amusement. He watched as she shook her head sadly, a small smile on her lips. It was strange to think that those were the lips that had kissed an evil dictator. That Lord Voldemort coveted those lips.

"We had the same desire," Faith corrected gently, "But not the same thing. Tom wanted to give in. He believed that if we gave into our feelings…they would die over time. Wither away into nothingness."

"And you?"

"I knew that if we gave in, we would never stop."

Albert paused, his brows knotting together. "I'm sorry… I don't…_Why _did Riddle want his feelings to die?"

There was a moment of silence, before Faith threw her head back and laughed, her whole body shaking as a high, joyous sound filled the room. As she composed herself, Albert noted the bitter edge, the resentment in her jade eyes. "He believed that his feelings made him feel weak, that I held some form of power over him. In a way, I did. Tom knew his was destined for great things, things that had to be set in motion. I was a distraction, something that haunted him whenever he closed his eyes. I believe that by not giving into him, Tom developed a form of respect for me, and with his lust, it soon became love."

Albert silently regarded Faith. "When did you being to fall in love with Thomas Riddle?"

Faith laughed again, this time her pearls of laughter held genuine delight, void of any form of dark feelings. "Oh, you don't know women at all," she chuckled, shaking her head, red locks bouncing, gleaming in the weak sunlight that streamed through the window. "I was already in love with him – I just didn't know it yet. The fact that I pulled away in the library proves that." When she received another blank look, Faith just sighed. "When you love something – you treasure it, savour it. You want it just as much, even more so, yet a part of you wants things to go slow, to prolong it. You just don't want it to end."

Albert nodded, accepting Faith's reason. "So, what happened then? After you rejected Tom?"

The wizard watched as Faith had the grace to look embarrassed, her cheeks blooming into a soft pink against her pale, unblemished skin. "I do believe that my emotions got the better of me," she muttered, looking chagrin.

Albert settled back into his chair, readying himself once more.

October 20th, 1944

Faith Summer's watched with narrowed eyes as a young fifth year draped herself around Tom, her fall of wheat-blonde hair stood starkly against the rich velvet of the armchair that Tom sat in, with the gushing girl on the armrest. Many of Tom's followers such as Avery, Lastrange and Faith's brother Eric, lounged around their master, smirking at the sight of the fawning girl, who in Faith's eyes, was making a complete fool of herself. Her hazel eyes seemed wide and doe-like, making the whole scene slightly perverse.

Looking away, Faith stared miserably into the fire's flames, her jaw set into a stubborn, harsh line as flirtatious laughter carried over the common room towards Faith. There was no doubt in her mind that Tom was doing this to bait her. That he was showing her that she could easily be replaced when she proved useless to him. It stung to know that a simpering blonde could be a good enough replacement for Faith, that she wasn't worth more.

Apart of Faith knew that her resentment towards the girl was uncalled for, That Tom could have chosen any girl, that the blonde was only a mere pawn in Tom and Faith's games. But Faith's wasn't thinking rationally. She was thinking about how four days ago, it was _her_ who had been in Tom's arms. _Her_ who had ran her fingers though his hair, _her _who had made his heart race…

Another belt of high ringing laughter caused Faith to look back, seeing the girl stroke Tom's hair lazily, her eyes alight with the attention she was getting, the high of being in Thomas Riddle's presence. Feeling disgusted, Faith rose stiffly from her seat by the fire, unable to bear he sight any longer. Making her way towards the girls' dormitories, Faith pasted the group, attracting a large amount of stares. What had been said about her, Faith didn't want to know, but when her eyes caught those of the fifth year blonde, Faith watched as a superior smirk light her features, her hazel eyes taking mirth at Faith's obvious isolation.

Whatever, feeble pity Faith had felt for the girl fled immediately. _She_ was looking her nose down at _Faith_? Feeling her eyes narrow into dangerous slits, Faith watched as the girl's smirk slipped from her face. But the damage was done. Somewhere, Faith heard her brother rise, his voice a tone of warning and concern. "Faith…"

Small, pale hands fisted into thick blonde locks, yanking harshly until the girl was on her feet, stumbling as she struggled to free herself form Faith's grip. When she found no means of escape, the girl struck out blindly, cuffing the side of Faith's face, before latching onto Faith's own copper curls. The two lost footing, falling towards the ground, scrambling as they fought, hitting and scratching at anything they could. Straddling the younger witch, Faith bared down at resentful mud-brown eyes, taking satisfaction to see that her nails had left three bloody welts along her cheek.

"What on earth is going on?" Slughorn spluttered, the cheering that Faith seemed oblivious to creasing at once. "Miss Summers? Miss Crabbe? What is the meaning of this?" Faith blinked, staring at her head of house, mouth agape.

"She…she attacked me…P-p-professor." Faith turned back to the sobbing Deborah Crabbe, noting that there was not a tear in her eye.

"Oh and I suppose you're the innocent victim here?" Faith demanded, glaring down at the girl. Deborah's sobs died immediately, her own face twisting in resentment.

"I can't help it if your jealous." She said with spite. "He chose _me_, okay? _Me._"

Faith stared down at her girl, pity welling up once more. "Oh, you stupid girl," she muttered, shaking her head.

"Right, my office. _Now_." The two girls clambered to their feet, but when Faith made an attempt to follow Deborah, Slughorn shook his head. "Not you Faith," he said grimly, his dark eyes full of disappointment. "I'm afraid that Professor Dipplet would like a word with you."

Faith's ears still rung with the heavy words the headmaster of Hogwarts had said, his normally peaceful demure broken. "This seems like a repeating occurrence," he had said, pacing his office, the eyes of many previous headmasters watching them with mild interest. "To be frank, I'm very disappointed Faith. You're behaviour has been outstanding up until now. It concerns me that you are behaving like this. Is there something wrong? Something you wish to talk about?"

_Thomas Riddle_, Faith thought bitterly. _That's what is wrong._ Though she didn't dare say it. There was no use spilling her romance troubles to her headmaster, since Faith could hardly understand them herself. Instead, Faith shook her head and looked meekly down at her hands, which lay on her lap, wringing each other in a nervous gesture. "No professor."

Dipplet sighed, taking of his glasses and rubbing at his eyes wearily. "You know I must give you a punishment." He said, not unkindly. "I'm sorry Faith, but I'll have to forbid you from attending any of the Hogsmeade trips this term. Instead, every Saturday, you will accompany the elves in the kitchen, helping them to prepare the evening meal. Do you understand?"

Faith nodded sadly, "Yes, Professor."

As she left the Headmaster's office, Faith found a familiar figure leaning against the wall, his arms cross, his head turned away from her. At the sight of her approach, Tom's head whirled, his dark eyes watching her with that same, unreadable expression that Faith had daydreamed about. They stayed there, like that for a long moment, studying each other, trying to decipher the intentions of the other.

Slowly, Tom smirked, pushing of against the walk, walking towards Faith. "You know," he said in a low voice, his eyes searing into Faith. "You didn't have to physically harm anyone to get my attention."

"I wasn't trying to get your attention," Faith hissed back, aware that she was but a few steps away from Dippet's office. She had to keep better control over her temper, to avoid nay further punishment. "And besides, it was _you _who was trying to get _my_ attention?"

Tom's dark brows rose. "Oh? How so?"

Faith gave a disbelieving snort. "Drop the act. You know 'how so'. By replacing me with an insignificant blonde. I would have thought you better than that. A bit petty for your standards, don't you think?"

Looking genuinely taken back, Tom blinked. "I wasn't trying to replace you," he said quietly. "I would find that an impossible task."

"Oh?" Faith said bitterly. "Then what were you trying to do?"

Tom stared at Faith for a long moment, his mouth parting to say something, and then thought better of it. "I don't know," he said softy. "I don't know."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six:

Present Day, 2010

Faith set her tea down, having lost the appeal long ago. While she depicted a strong, composed demure, she felt like her whole body was once more alive. It was as though the very thought of Tom, of what they once had, was enough for the same, self-indulgent emotions to resurface. Things were different now, that she knew, but Faith had come to learn that love is like physics, an unmovable force that cannot be destroyed, only changed. Love can become hate, love can become pain and love can become destructive, but underneath, somewhere, love remains, no matter how fragile, how small, how broken beyond repair.

"Miss Summers?" Faith blinked, seeing that Albert Tennyson had been watching her with an expectant face. Glinting green eyes seemed out of focus, lost, almost vulnerable as Faith struggled to stay in the present, in the small, modern room that was decades away from the life she had once had.

"We avoided each other after that," Faith said, her thoughts still elsewhere. "I suppose we both hoped in vain that distance could slowly fester away at our attraction. We didn't trust ourselves at being alone together. Tom continued to be the model student, whilst I dutifully carried out my detention without any form of protest and for a while, I believe we managed to fool ourselves that we could overcome our attraction. We underestimated the power of love – something Tom did frequently throughout his life. It would later become his downfall, his undoing. But at the tender age of sixteen, our inexperience with love, our naivety and over confidence at our own power was what defined us. For the short time Tom and I spent together at Hogwarts, we loved, loved with such fierce intensity that at times, I feared it would consume us, a burning rage of power that was the strongest and oldest like of magic." Faith smiled, a soft tilt of her lips, a gentle curve that seemed to match the wistful look in her eyes. "Three weeks. Our will power lasted three weeks."

Albert frowned slightly, looking down at his clasped hands, taking his time to formulate his question. "How did it happen?" he asked, his voice low, eyes still downcast. "How did your will power crumble?"

Faith sighed, blinking slowly, as if to rid herself to the image that was still etched into her mind. "When it seemed like we were the only two people in the world."

December 13th, 1944

"Can Nola get you anything else, Miss Faith?" Large glass orbs looked up at Faith with such eagerness to please, that it seemed too powerful an emotion for such a tiny house-elf. Her shrunken frame was lost behind the makeshift dress that was a flour sack. It gave the humorous image of what a wizened crone would look like as a child.

Faith, perched on top of the wooden table of the Hogwarts kitchen, beamed down at Nola, the elf that was fast becoming her favourite and shook her head. Faith had come to realise that working in the kitchens with the elves wasn't a bad as she had thought. None of them wished for her to lift a finger and became incredibly distressed when she attempted to help them in any shape or form. Faith had then concluded that she could supervise, since the headmaster would not want a kitchen full of distraught elves.

Content, Faith took a bite of one of the many freshly baked desserts that had been so kindly bestowed on her. Nola watched her with an anxious expression, her large eyes widening, her small bony hands wringing at the hem of her flour sack. "Wonderful," Faith said around a mouthful, not bothering with pleasantries or manners. The elves didn't seem to mind, in fact, they saw it as a compliment to their food, something that Faith had picked up very quickly.

The day had passed well into the night, thought with little time at all, going unnoticed by Faith Summers until she yawned, feeling the day take its toll. "What time is it?" she wondered, more to herself than anyone else.

"Ten minutes past eleven!" One elf squeaked happily, his eyes glowing with pride for himself due to assisting Faith. The young witch grimaced, knowing that her duties were suppose to end at eight. She was more than aware of the patrols around the castle, prefects all eager to catch a rule-breaker. Cursing slightly under her breath, Faith jumped from the table, wincing slightly at the jarring impact that shot through her numb calves. "Bloody hell," she muttered, before turning towards the gathering crowd of elves that surrounded her. "Thanks," she laughed, a little breathless as her arms became beleaguered with many treats that were sure to last her for a whole month.

Slipping out as quietly as she could, Faith eyed the many paths ways wearily, straining to hear the give-away sight of soft footsteps. The castle was different at night, the deserted halls illuminating the eerie, haunting spell that seemed to settle. The day had long been forgotten, the hectic routine of Hogwarts life seemed like a forgotten ghost now, it's linger presence a mere echo of what it had been. It was like the castle itself replayed the facts of life. That nothing lasts forever, that the day must give way to the night, that darkness overcomes light, even just for the moment.

"What are you doing here?"

The harsh demand made Faith jump, peering around with a guilty expression on her face, until she caught sight of Thomas Riddle, who stood at the top of the stairs, baring down at her with an equal mixture of surprise and suspicion. Faith herself felt a conflict of emotions swirl within her, combined with the heavy sugar in her blood, caused the young witch to feel quite nauseas. Blanching slightly, Faith tried not to look too fearful as Tom made his way towards her. The two had barely made eye contact with each other for the last three weeks, since Riddle's uncertain confession. Faith had just begun to believe that she had regained some facade of normality, something that seemed to set her back on her two feet ever since Riddle came and shook her world.

Scowling, Faith glared, stubbornly unwilling to allow the pompous wizard to see her off-guarded expression. It would be like blood to a shark. Even the slightest hint of vulnerability and he would strike. "Finishing my detention," she snapped, making it clear in her voice that there was no doubt in her mind _who_ was to blame for Faith even having a detention.

Riddle paused, his pace slowing until he looked at the young witch with a heavy gaze, one that made Faith want to squirm. "It's dangerous to be out here this late." He said at last, his voice, his expression, giving away nothing that may help Faith in some way decipher what was going on in his head. She watched in silent envy as she noted that unlike her, Riddle seemed to have no ill effect at seeing her. Like their fight in the common room, it seemed that Faith was the only one that held the metaphysical scars, the one that had seemed to suffer any repercussions. Faith did not know it yet, but such a conclusion would prove valid throughout the pair's lives. The young Faith was unaware that she would be the one to suffer heavily when it came to Thomas Riddle.

Giving a little snort, Faith raised a brow. "Dangerous? Hogwarts?" She watched, almost wearily as Tom approached, closing the distance between them. He stopped when there was about two feet between them, something that both set Faith at ease and made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

"A…" Tom hesitated for the briefest of moments. "Muggle-born died not even a year ago, just because they expelled Slytherin's heir, doesn't mean that it's completely safe to walk the hall alone this late at night."

"It seems strange though," Faith mused aloud, her hold shifting as her burned began to face the force of gravity. "That Slytherin's heir was a Gryffindor, half giant at that."

Faith watched, curious as Tom stiffened, his dark eyes hardening. "What does it matter?" he hissed, all at once becoming a more imposing presence that seemed to shine in pale glow against the darkness of the lifeless hall. "He's expelled."

Faith watched in silent fascinations as Riddle struggled to compose himself, his pale skin high in colour, hands fisting tightly. She dismissed the very notion of telling Riddle that it was _he _who had brought up the topic of Slytherin's heir and resurfacing the death of the Hufflepuff girl that had met her end in the girl's first floor bathroom. Teeth worrying at her bottom lip, Faith wondered at what to do with the usually composed Riddle. While very few Slytherins felt the loss of the muggle-born, all students went in upheaval at the thought of Hogwarts, their safe haven, not being as safe as they once thought. It made sense that Riddle may see the events of last year as a threat since he had made no effort in hiding that he despised the orphanage that he lived in, nor that he saw Hogwarts as a place where he belonged.

"Do you mind walking me to the common room?" Faith said suddenly, her voice soft yet echoing unto the silence that had settled over them. "Just in case," she added, hoping to reassure Riddle that while there was no danger, she would take his warning with good grace.

The change in Riddle was immense and so sudden, Faith had to force herself not to blink, or she would have missed it. Like a soft sigh, the tension within Riddle eased, like a breath slipping through his lips. His eyes seemed to melt into a rich brown and his features softening as he nodded, a small smile on his lips. "Of course," he said, voice low. It was like Riddle was seeing her for the first time since they met this evening, his lips parting in silent surprise as he regarded the large proportion of food that she held. Amused, Riddle raised a silent brow in question, watching as Faith blushed a deep pink, yet her eyes seemed to glow with humour. "The elves," she explained, pale teeth biting her lip to stop the smile that was tugging at her mouth.

"Ah," Riddle nodded solemnly, an act that seemed so ridiculous compared to the topic that they were discussing, that Faith burst out in a startled laugh. It was obvious to Faith that Riddle looked pleased with her reaction, closing the little distance between them, offering to take some of the burden from her. Gratefully, Faith parted with half her load, refusing to give him more or less. Half meant an equal share that she could carry just as much as he and vice versa. For a long time, the pair walked in silence, acutely aware of the hair's breath between them, the way that only the slightest movement would seem them touching. Faith's nerves seemed to buzz, alongside the strange feeling of temptation, of indulging in a touch, to see if his hair was really as soft as she remembered.

"I like you," the words, blurted out, seemed a little juvenile and perhaps a little inadequate. Faith raised a brow, slightly amused at Riddle's wording. Lips pulling up in a wry, bitter smile, Faith shook her head. "No," she corrected gently. "You don't."

She watched a Riddle's features clouded, like a summer's day spoiled by rain, as his lips parted in protest, Faith rushed to explain. "You like what happened in the library." She reminded him, voice no so gentle. "You like what could have happened in Slughorn's cauldron. You like the reaction I had when I saw you with Deborah Cabbe, what you don't like is me. You don't know me, you know nothing but a few stolen moments where your tongue – and to be honest, I think another part of you – wanted to crawl down my throat. If you liked me, you wouldn't be thinking of me like that. If you liked me, you would have taken me out, spent time with me. _And not with your hands all over me_." Faith added for good measure, feeling a sadistic sort of satisfaction at seeing the lost look in Riddle's eyes, before it gave way to an anger that matched her own. "If you even remotely like me Thomas Riddle – ask me out. Stop playing me like a fool, humiliating me in front of the whole school, and ask me out."

Faith blinked; too angry to be surprised at her outburst. She shouldn't really be startled, since her dark feelings had been festering away below the surface, churning dangerously, threatening to over-spill at any moment when she caught Riddle looking her way. He was being unfair, treating Faith like the rest of the young witches that flung themselves at him. She had tried so hard to prove that she wasn't like them, that she cold be deemed an equal, someone who deserved respect. All her efforts had been futile, as Riddle proved that Faith was just another pawn in the game that the orphaned wizard played at his own amusement.

Dread settled over Faith, like cold water over a fire, quenching her anger and leaving dark disappointment in its place. Perhaps Faith had really managed to delude herself into thinking that Riddle had seen her as an equal – and even more than that. Faith had secretly hoped that he would have seen her the way a man was meant to see a woman. She had wanted him to find her intelligent, beautiful, and likeable. A part of her wanted to be the one he would save a seat for in class, the one whose opinion he valued highly, the only one who could make him smile when nothing or no one else could. It was a silly, girlish sort of fantasy that almost every girl secretly dreamed of, where there heart would swell with a deep longing, so real that a long heartfelt sigh would escape their lips, eyes seeming lost in a world that life, reality, would never truly grant them.

Feeling defeated, Faith watched with a dark sense of acceptance as Riddle's pale face hardened into marble stone, unyielding even when Faith's expression crumbled and her green eyes shone with unshed tears. "You don't like me," She insisted, her voice stubbornly refusing to crack under the strain of a suppressed sob. This was the moment where Tom was meant to take Fait in his arms, to hold her and reassure her that he did like her, very much so. Any man would have done so, when the woman they were beginning to love gazed up at them with a lost, melancholy look. It was Tom's duty to chase away such a look, just as Faith had soothed them not too long ago. But he didn't. Instead, Thomas Riddle turned, his body still taunt with silent fury at Faith, and left her standing in the dungeons with nothing but the darkness to comfort her. Faith watched him go, as the shadows of the empty hall consumed him, before she dared to allow one burning tear to fall down a pale, cold cheek.

Present Day, 2010

"It was then that I knew, that no matter how much I could love Thomas Riddle, a part of me would always hate him. Hate him for always being the one who sough comfort, yet gave none in return. Hate him for making me grow up too fast, too soon." Faith sighed, one pale finger winding around a vivid red curl in nervous, embarrassed gesture. "I have never quite forgiven him for what he did to me that evening, nor the way he believed he could treat me."

"Do you know why he treated you that way?" Albert asked hesitantly, feeling as though he must tread carefully over the young woman's raw pain that seemed to inflict itself once more.

Faith raised a brow, not at all softened at the man's attempt to comfort her. "I believe that I was the first person a sixteen year old Thomas Riddle had loved, aside from himself." There was no gentle, loving tone when Faith Summers spoke of her late husband, just a harsh indifference. "I don't he really understood what love actually meant. While I was right in what I said to him, it was cruel to expect someone who had never know love to be capable of it. We barely knew each other – other than our mutual distrust, neither of us truly understood our feelings."

Albert frowned, thinking back. "You mentioned that Riddle loved you," he pointed out, watching as Faith waved his statement away with a careless gesture. "Yes, and he did. But wouldn't you agree that the ones you hurt, are the ones you tend to love the most? That night was only the beginning of the pain I would have to endure to be loved by Tom. He never truly meant to hurt me, just, when he was in doubt, Thomas did what he did best."

"And that was?"

"Unleashing his hurt, his anger, his uncertainty unto those around him."

"Were…were you always round him?" Albert asked.

Faith frowned; her eyes seeming to could with the uncertainty that she claimed her husband had felt. "I was. Always. I promised him that I would be – that I would always be there, even if he did not know it, could not see it." Faith smiled suddenly, eyes alight once more. "But that's later, much later. Where were we?" She asked pleasantly, a smile beaming her features.

Albert hesitated again, unsure at how to treat this suddenly new, more likable Faith. After a moment, the wizard cleared his throat. "Three weeks into your detention? When…Thomas…left you in the hall?"

"Ah yes," Faith nodded, recalling the scene. "It took me a while to get over my humiliation. I had felt as though I bared my heart and soul to Tom, for only him to deem them unworthy. I suppose you could say I sulked around for a few days, more determined than ever to avoid Tom. But then again, I underestimated him."

"How so?"

Faith smiled again, a slow, luxurious curve of the lips, like her memory was rich chocolate to her senses. "He tricked me, using possibly the only person at Hogwarts that could appeal Tom's case to me with some hope of success."

Albert raised a brow, a puzzled look shifting his expression. "Who?"

"My brother; Eric."

**Note:**

Okays, how was that? Just to clear a few things up, yes, Tom did run off with Faith's sweets. It's meant to be symbolic or something, about how Faith always seems to loose when it come to Tom. Eh, make up your own mind.

**Anyways, the reason I'm here is to apologise in advance, since I will be spending the next month in rural Ireland (Donegal, actually – where Faith comes from). There will be no computers or internet, so not only will I not be able to read your inspiring and encouraging comments, I will also not be able to finish Chapter Seven, until I come back on the 24****th**** of August. **

**While I will be taking the opportunity to study the little village and apply it to Faith, I am warning y'all in advance that you'll have to just bare with me. **

**Thank you so much for all your comments so far, its what keeps me writing (aside from my own need to share Faith's story). All I can say is that I promise I will not disappoint you and that I have a few twists and turn up my sleeve. **

**Forever yours,**

**Lisa**

**xxx **


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven:

December 20th, 1944

The chill of the December cold seeped into the bones of Faith Summers, causing her small shoulders to hunch, in an attempt to ward of the bitter breeze. She clutched the glass pint of milk to her chest, her fingers numb from holding something that offered no warmth. It was a dark, frosty winter, unbelievably so, which was why Faith had quickened her pace, longing for the heat of the fireplace she would soon be stepping into, the green flames taking her to the little cottage that she longed for, back to her true home in Ireland.

Even now, after years spent in London, Faith did not find solace, no peace in the dingy grey streets, nor the claustrophobic feel as rows of buildings towered over her, caging her in. No, Faith longed for vivid green hills, the musty smell of fresh wood burning on a roasting fire. She missed the endless roads, ones that were deserted and could seem as though she was the only person left in the world. If it wasn't for her holidays spent back in Ireland, Faith was sure that London would have driven her mad.

Faith's chest clenched at the very thought of returning to her little cottage, her little Irish home the following evening. It was tradition for the whole Summers family to spend their holidays in the north west of Ireland. Sean was coming home from America, bringing back a girl he had found there. Eliza, she was called. Eric was bringing home some friends from Hogwarts, most likely the usual – Avery, Lastrange, Black, all the purebloods that would impress Faith's parents. Like every year, Faith brought home no one. She did not want the hassle of being the entertaining host throughout her holidays, since she longed for these two weeks since September. No, her brothers could uphold the perfect façade however much they liked, but this was Faith's only moments alone, where she could be as foul tempered as she liked, as rude and herself without the whole of Hogwarts judging her.

As Faith drew closer to her London home, she marvelled at how unbelievably ordinary the tall, grey brick terraced house looked alongside it's brothers and sisters. It was a far cry from what she truly called home, small but cosy – free of the feel of claustrophobia, of the walls pressing against her. Number twenty-six loomed, a chipped and gnarled plank of navy blue wood that served as the only piece of colour against the uniform grey that was London.

Inside, Faith was greeted by the tinkling laugh of Bridget Summers, the proud matriarch of the Summers' household. To her daughter's ears, Mrs Summers' laugh sounded too high, too false, too perfect to be genuine. The narrow hall way stretched out in front of Faith, it's long path leading ahead into the tiny box-size kitchen, stairs to her right and the dining room to her left. Following the low murmur of voices, Faith turned left, peering around the proud oak door that had been left ajar.

"Sean!" The familiar looking blue eyes and copper-wire hair had no warning of their little sister's hurdling approach, but only had time to wrap long, solid arms around her small frame and laugh at her enthusiasm. "I missed you," she sighed, a content sound that seemed to ease the weight between her shoulders.

Giving his sister one last squeeze, Sean Summers beamed down at the head buried in the crook of his arm, leaving vivid curls – not unlike his own – for show. "I miss you too," the memorable Irish brogue seemed to hold a foreign twang of Americanism. "Faith –" Sean nudged at his sister, drawing her attention to somewhere else. "I want you to meet someone. Faith, this is Eliza. Eliza, this is Faith, my little sister."

Faith watched as a tall, slender blonde rose from her mother's over-stuffed, uncomfortable rose patterned sofa, eyes a clear honey brown. While Faith could note that her nose was a little too small for her face, her eyes a little to wide and doe-like, her mouth was perfect, proudly owning a cupid bow, framed with laugh lines that only made her seem all the more youthful. Faith knew what her mother would think of Eliza's looks; common, but Faith could see why her brother had left his home and family to move to America.

Taking Eliza's offered hand, Faith smiled apologetically, knowing that spending even ten minutes in Bridget Summer's presence was enough to last a lifetime. "Lovely to finally meet you," Faith grinned. "Though I'm all sure we know why Sean would want to withhold a visit." Eliza bit her lip whilst Sean had to muffle a choked laugh into a cough.

"Faith," her mother said coldly from behind. "Would you mind helping me with lunch, while our guests have time to freshen up?" As reluctant as Faith was to leave her brother, she complied with her mother's unyielding tone. Her father had always said that his wife was a force to be reckoned with. Dutifully, Faith followed her mother into the small kitchen, a neat and modern thing by the standards of her time. As she shut the door behind her, Faith marvelled at how, in an instant, her mother had changed.

There was no denying the beauty of Bridget Summers, a small woman that held exotic curves and a mane of thick chestnut curls that held only the slightest show of silver-grey stands. Her complexion was a smooth, unblemished white with a small dainty mouth and shapely cheekbones. Yet it was her eyes that had captivated Faith's father. Large and angular, and framed with thick dark brown lashes; Bridget's green eyes glowed like a cat's. Vivid jewels, beacons of green light. Faith could only stand in awe as she watched her mother changed from the proud, superior, blood-righteous witch, into a beautiful, almost approachable woman. But of course, Faith knew it would not last long.

"A half blood," she heard her mother sigh, though she sounded more dejected than angry as she turned towards the stove. "And I suppose he's going to marry her – regardless of what I say."

Silently, Faith rested the forgotten milk on the table and went to retrieve the plates, wishing for the umpteenth time for the use of her wand. Just until May, a couple more months and then she could use magic. "Where's Eric?" Faith asked suddenly, interrupting her mother's hushed rant. "Meeting his friends," she sniffed, giving a small flick of her wand. "Mind you, that boy could do well with bringing home a nice pureblood girl. He's always bringing home boys – it's a wonder he's not queer!" Mrs Summers scowled, her back still to her daughter. "Imagine, between Eric and Sean, it's a wonder if I'll ever get grandchildren –one's of noble blood, that is. I have given up hope on you Faith, always with your head in the clouds, running off into trouble. I'll be receiving visiting invites to Azkaban rather than a wedding invitation from you. I will tell you now Faith that men do not like a woman who is unreliable. They like their food on the table at the right time, house cleaned and everything in order, I shudder to think of the man with half a brain who would take you on. Brave soul, may sweet Salzar save him – put the kettle on, would you?"

Rolling her eyes, Faith did as she was asked, wondering how her father, the more bearable of her parents, could have fallen in love with his wife. Granted she was beyond the realms of beautiful, yet when she opened her mouth, the woman proved to be insufferable. As she set the table, Faith paused over the extra places she should set for Eric and his guests. "Just Eric and one other," her mother clarified, reading her daughter's thoughts. "Apparently, the Lastranges are going on a holiday to France. Many of Eric's friends are going with them."

Faith felt her nerves began to tingle, as minutes passed, leaving her more and more closer to Ireland. It was an excitement she shared as, even though Mrs Summers continued to be her unbearable self, Faith had caught an odd smile on her mother's lips ever so often. It wasn't just Faith who was returning home, but her parents to, where they would be able to meet with family, friends, those of whom they spent their childhood with.

Yet, when the dinner was set, lunch long gone, Mrs Summers began to hiss loudly under her breath for all to hear.

"That man," she declared. "Off down the pub no doubt. Wouldn't care if it was packed full of muggles – so long as he gets his pint. He knows perfectly well that we'll be leaving early tomorrow and he decides to make things all the more difficult. He'll be complaining about a hangover in the morning – just you waiting and see." Mrs Summers jabbed her wand in direction of Faith, who always seemed to be the one stuck with her mother during such rants, whilst Sean had tactfully suggested that he and Eliza should call down to the local pub to see if they could find Mr Summers down there.

"And don't get me started on Eric," Faith's mother warned, though she knew quite well that she would start, regardless whether or not someone provoked her. "Almost as bad. Half seven on a winter's night like this? I do hope he's not up to trouble with his friend, fighting with the muggle boys like last time. I tell you, it's a good thing your father's a lawyer, otherwise it would have been hard trying to explain to the ministry _just how_ those flowers started growing…_there_." Faith's mother shuddered at the memory of the muggle boys who had called her dear son, Eric, a pansy. Well, Eric decided to show them what a true pansy was and how they could grow in the most…_intimate_ of areas. Bridget Summers had never felt so embarrassed in all her life, watching her son, alongside her husband; explain to a room full of Ministry Officials at just why her son had reacted so violently to the catty comment. Deep down, Bridget knew that her son wasn't…well, like his older brother Sean, to say the least. She worried about him, about what the not-so understanding world could do to him once they realised that he was different, special.

The sound of the front door opening lurched Mrs Summers out of her silent turmoil and into the present, where her husband was calling for her in a merry voice. "Where is my beautiful wife?" he asked, voice dreamy. "Bridget? Are you in the kitchen my love?" Heavy footsteps could be heard, followed by many more, lighter ones. Red hair and blue eyes pocked around the kitchen door, a face that was so alike to Sean's, but only more lined, with a hint of copper-gold stubble.

"Look at that," Patrick Summers proclaimed, walking further into the kitchen, followed by Sean and Eliza, and two others who stood under the shadows of the threshold. "My Bridget, slaving away at that stove all day. Never gets a day off – won't even allow me to get her a house elf! She's too house proud, my Bridget." The fondness in Mr Summer's tone made Faith smile, but carefully made sure to hide it from her mother, who seemed immune to her husband's flattery.

"Away with you, Paddy and your sweet tongue." Faith's mother replied, looking harassed as she sent food flying to the table with her wand. "There was never a man who spent as much time in the pub as you. Now, sit down and give my head a rest."

Obediently, Paddy Summers did as he was told, though he smiled all the way, his large, muscular frame swallowing up the small wooden chair. "She's something else, isn't she? What do you say Tom, think you can handle an Irish woman like my Bridget?"

Faith's head spun as she looked at the two figures that she had earlier presumed to be Eric and a friend. She watched as they steeped into the light, one her brother, the other Thomas Riddle. As the family took their seats, Faith dutifully went to fetch the water, pouring the contents of the jug into each of the presented glasses. Her hand's felt numb as she watched Tom smile, his eyes strangely light with amusement. "Only if she cook as well as Mrs Summers," he said lightly, giving an answer that Faith knew was well calculated to please both her parents. Faith's father roared with laughter, giving Tom a hearty slap on the back, whilst her mother smiled and mumbled how she just threw something together at the last minute. She avoided his gaze, yet Faith could feel his eyes pressing heavily against her.

Setting the jug of water in the middle of the table, Faith could feel her heart racing as she struggled to overcome her shock of seeing Thomas Riddle. He had taken his place at the right side of her farther, Eric beside him. Faith's mother sat on the left of her husband, her first-born sitting protectively beside her. Eliza sat by Sean, leaving Faith with the gaping hole next to Eric. In Faith's eyes, it could have been worse, now at least, it would take a great deal of effort for Riddle to stare at her.

Sean launched into the story at how Eliza and himself had found Mr Summers, surrounded by muggles, playing cards. Everyone laughed at the appropriate places, though many of the Summers family had heard countless stories that were similar. "And then," Sean continued, his fork poised in the air, waiting until he had the whole room's attention. "I see these two," he waved his fork in the direction of Eric and Tom. "Coming from the bar, carrying pints to father." Sean shook his head. "I tell you, I have never seen the sight of it in all my life. They were like three old men, hunched over their pints," Eliza giggled, her cheeks rosy and eyes alight as she looked up at Sean. For the briefest of moments, the whole world was invisible to them. There was mutual adoration in each other's eyes that seemed to glow from within. Faith had often watched her own parents look at each other that way, namely when they thought they were alone. It was a private moment, one that made felt feel like an intruder, a Peeping Tom who was leeching off other people's happiness.

Feeling embarrassed for her brother and his ladylove, Faith looked away offering them some semblance of privacy. Her green eyes caught dark brown staring at her. The look Thomas Riddle was giving Faith was unnerving. She could almost fool herself into believing that Tom's look was almost like the one Sean was giving Eliza. That he wasn't looking at her body, her face but _her_. Like he could see right through her, that he could unearth every secret, hope and dream that laid buried within her, waiting for him to unlock them.

But it wasn't and Faith knew it, she knew as she stared back into his eyes that he, like her, craved to be looked at the way Sean and Eliza looked at each other. They both wanted it, and neither was willing to give it.

When his intense gaze persisted, no doubt to invoke the same look of utter adoration that Eliza had, Faith just scowled, returning her gaze back to her meal. But not before she caught Eric watching Tom from the corner of his eye. Whatever look Thomas Riddle has sought from Faith's face, he had it in the form of Eric Summers.

Present Day, 2010

"Your _brother_ and your _husband_?" the absolute shock in Albert Tennyson's face was beyond belief. In a way, his reaction settled something in Faith, something that been pacing restlessly within her for years. Faith had never wanted to believe that her suspicions were true; regardless of the proof lunged towards her later on in her life. It pleased her to know that there had been some rightness in her feelings towards this discovery, that her anger was justified, as was her sense of betrayal. From both Eric and Tom.

"Nothing ever happened," Faith sighed. "To Eric's bitter disappointment. My family had always known that Eric was different, but my mother refused for him to be treated any way different from the rest of her children. Tom had the innate ability to find your deepest desires and to use them to his advantage. He knew of Eric's…infatuation for him and saw it as a way of getting closer to me." Faith shrugged, offering a half-hearted smile. "In the end, it worked. He had the girl and a loyal and devoted follower, though I seemed to have lost a brother that day."

"What day?"

Green eyes turned away, looking for something within the grey clouds that formed overhead. "The day when everything changed, when we both realised that we were too deep to save ourselves, so we decided to drown together, rather than alone." Faith smiled, a soft, sad thing that changed her in a heartbeat. "I just didn't know I was dragging down everyone I loved with me."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight:

December 24th, 1943

"I thought I would find you here," Sean's voice carried across to Faith on chilling winds, which seemed laced with the scent of fields and life. Something that seemed wondrous compared to the metallic tang of London, where fumes and grime impregnated the air.

Faith watched as her bother approached, his hair windswept and eyes alight. Like many of the Summers, the country suited Sean. When he was a couple feet away from where Faith sat, Sean gave a low whistle. "Do you want to be cursed Faith?" he half teased, nodding towards the rock on which she sat. "You know for a fact that the Grey Rock scares the living daylights out of the muggles." Faith shrugged, knowing the legend of the large rock that she sat on. It was said that the dark fey, faeries, dwelled beneath the Grey Rock. Muggle priests and such had come out to bless it, hoping to ease the panic of the small village of Clonmany. Strange things happened around the rock, things flying about, people seeing things, hearing voices. Faith's mother hated the rock with a passion. She had told the story to her children at how, when she was fifteen, as she passed, her wand had lit up on its own accord and how her dress had blown up when there was no breeze. Her mother claimed that as she ran, a voice called out to her, laughing as it called her name.

Bridget Summers would have a fit if she saw her daughter sitting happily on the rock, which held some of the appeal. Regardless of what people said, Faith liked the rock, like the way that it was almost warm to touch whenever she caressed her fingers across its rough, grainy texture.

Grinning at her brother's torn expression, Faith patted the stone. "Come out, you wee devils," she cooed, her voice thick as she amplified her accent. "Are ya goin' to curse me? Doom me to a life of misery?" Faith laughed, shaking her head. "Sean, your as white as a sheet!"

"You really shouldn't mess around with stuff like that Faith." Sean warned, his voice holding a slight tremor. "You know what mammy said…"

"That my skirts going to blow up?" Faith made a disbelieving sound in the back of her throat. "There's nothing wrong with the stone, just the people who are scared of it."

Jumping off, Faith rolled her shoulders, suddenly realising how stiff they were. "Tell mammy that I won't be home for lunch," catching the suspicious look on her brother's face, Faith gave him big, innocent eyes. "What? I'm taking a walk down to the beach, that's all." As she turned, Faith muttered under her breath. "It's about time that I had some time for myself."

The long, winding road that led towards the small town centre of Clonmany was deserted. The pale light of the December sun shone bravely against the pearly grey sky, whilst Faith ran her hands lightly over the rushes that lined the road. The walk itself to the beach was long, cold and yet, it filled Faith with a sense of freedom. She was far away from disapproving eyes, so far from the social etiquette of Hogwarts and for a time, Faith forgot about her brother Eric, and Tom Riddle, a boy who seemed every too far from her thoughts these days.

It was one of the wonders of Ireland, Faith thought, copper hair flying madly in the wind. She was free. She hadn't realised just how much of a burden Tom could be, hiding in dark corners of the small cottage, his gaze always resting heavily on Faith. It made her uncomfortable, what with this new revelation about Eric. She didn't like it, her brother and Tom. Not because of her own interest for Tom, but well, Eric. Riddle - who in Faith's eyes was a manipulating bastard, would only hurt him. Something Faith did not want. The wizarding community was a lot more tolerant of gays then muggles. But nonetheless, Faith was sure that all Riddle had to do was say the wrong word, and Eric's life would become a misery.

The salty tang in the air informed Faith that she was near. A smile bloomed across her elfin-like features, her pale skin tinged with a healthy rose. The road had bled into an array of soft white sand and a few stray patches of stone and grass. The chilly wind stung at Faith's fingertips, turning them a bashful cherry red, alongside the tip of her nose.

The vast expanse of sea stretched out before Faith, the deep blue foamed with white, and the rush of waves hitting jutting rocks overrode Faith's senses. The lone craws of gulls were the only sound to break the trance that the coast had set on Faith. Its wild beauty made Faith feel wistful, an alien feeling that surprised her. Green eyes searching the horizon, Faith felt a strange stirring sensation within her as she wondered what it would be like to give herself over to the waves, to close her eyes and to allow the sea to take her wherever it wished. There would be no expectations; no need to have to prove herself, most defiantly no Thomas Riddle to disrupt every tiny detail of her life. She felt like a moth, small and insignificant, drawn to an eerily beautiful and dangerous light. It would undoubtedly kill her, this light, but didn't moths die happy? Left to bask in its warmth, in its glow, could the moth be blamed for wanting to be close to the deadly light?

It seemed that Faith's life now consisted of morbid thoughts that all made her wonder what it would be like to just give in to her own desires, regardless of the consequences. The thought of just not caring, of just doing as she pleased, not worrying about tomorrow seemed almost too good to be true. Sometimes Faith wondered if this was just about Tom, or if there was something deeper, darker within her that for the time lay dormant, a part of her that both terrified and intrigued her. If felt as though she was standing on the edge of a cliff, a gaping vastness of unknown waiting at the bottom. Logic told her to take a step back, seek safety, a smaller, more hidden part of Faith wanted to take the leap, the jump, the risk.

It made Faith fearful of herself, of what she could do. Of how fragile her resolve actually was.

"So, this is where you run off to?"

Faith jumped, eyes wide and startled at the familiarity of the voice. The wind whirred at her hair, causing it to become a fiery halo or red coils around her glowing face. There was no humour to Tom's voice, his dark eyes solemn, if not, slightly curious. The wind seemed to play with his thick strands of dark hair, like Faith, his pale face seemed to be tinged with a hearty pink glow. Though his eyes stood out from amongst it all, untouched by the world, just dark eyes that would never change, ones that could bare into Faith, seeing everything within her and yet nothing at all.

Faith opened her mouth to retort, but found that there was nothing for her to say, an unnerving thought, since her voice was needed when she dealt with Riddle.

After a couple of failed attempts, Faith sighed, looking away from the amused expression that seemed to be growing on Riddle's features. "What do you want?" until the words had been exploded out to the unloaded silence, Faith hadn't realised what a loaded question it had been. She watched a Tom looked at her strangely, his expression a little disappointed. It almost seemed to say, _come on Faith, you should know by now._

And Faith _did_ know, or at least, she knew what Riddle thought he wanted.

Crossing her arms, Faith looked around her, eyes searching for something – _anything _– other than Tom's inquisitive gaze. Now, what had seemed like a safe haven of escape became something much darker. Faith watched as waved crashed powerfully against one another, an action that had once been a lulling calm, but was now a violent, passionate embrace of power.

"Don't you have something better to do, other than to bother me?" Faith demanded, after the long stretch of silence had its fill of mocking her. She watched as Tom's mouth twitched, quirking up at the side, a movement that fascinated her. "No," he admitted. "Though if I did, I more than likely would prefer to bother you."

Feeling both amused and exasperated, Faith shook her head. "Why do I believe you?" she mused, more to herself than anyone else. Looking at Tom, Faith felt her lips itch for a wry smile, through she surpassed it with great effort. "Do you plan to bother me for long?" she asked, her shoulders hunching against a sudden chilly gust of wind. A shiver ran down her spine, a small tingling sensation that caused a small hiss to escape from her throat.

Tom cocked his head to the side, watching Faith as she shivered against the cold. Her wild hair stood out starkly against the pale pink of her cheeks, her glowing green eyes seeming to be like jewels set in the silver of her pale face. His arms burned for something, a heat coming off them that made him wonder if he should offer his warmth to Faith. Memories of her thin, diminutive frame engulfed in his bigger, more solid body came flooding back, though they seemed to pale in comparison to the actual act. The witch would more than likely strike out at him, if he even suggested the notion to her. Even now he could see that she deprived herself of amusement, her stubbornness at not smiling in his presence had increased the past few days spent in the Summers' little cottage. She would more than likely want to endure frostbite than to be held by him, even if it was just to keep warm.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Tom tried to ignore the almost lost look that she always seemed to have. At least with his hands away from temptation, Tom could study the witch, noting that regardless of false bravado that she seemed determined to wear, there was an air of…frailness. Like she could shatter under the slightest pressure. It was strange, since her character itself was strong. But what was stranger what that Tom could seem to tolerate this vulnerability, this weakness about her. Tom hated those who were weak, a fact that was proven by his time spent at the orphanage. He had hated the endless whines and cries of the children that lived there. But with Faith, he didn't. Tom didn't hate her for the lost look in her eyes, even when she spat out catty little comments to him. He just…didn't want her to feel like that.

"I…" Tom frowned, his mind searching for words to answer, ones that would not invoke fear or confusion into either of them. "I would like to bother you, if you'd let me."

He watched as surprise flitted across Faith's face; before she quickly hid it beneath her mocking mask once more. "Like I could stop you," she scoffed, shaking her head with another weary sigh. "Come on," she said, green eyes seeming to scorch into him, though with not as much malice as before. "Lets walk. That way, we can keep warm."

Faith began to walk, leaving Tom with no other option but to follow, he watched with mild irritation, as she didn't bother to look back to check to see whether or not he would actually follow her.

Faith hid a smile as she felt Tom brooding silently behind her. She was taken back by the more light-hearted feelings, ones that were so different to the kind that she felt during their time enclosed in the cottage. Under the sharp scrutiny of Eric and Mrs Summers, Faith felt that she was like an animal on display in a zoo. She had blamed Tom for that, and in many respects, he was to blame for Faith's holiday not being the joy that she had hoped. But now, now it felt different. Alone and away from her family's inquisitive eyes, Faith could actually tolerate Tom. Though for how long was another matter.

Once Tom had caught up with her, did Faith look at him, a small smile playing on the corners of her lips. She felt suddenly giddy, overcome by the feel of being unburdened by the questioning looks of her family, that on impulse, she reached put, grapping the crook of Tom's arm. "Come on," she laughed, almost breathless from her own eagerness. "I want to show you something." Leaving Tom with no time to response, Faith took of in a run, sand flying wildly in her wake, the wind acting against her, so that it felt like it was trying to push her back, trying to prevent her from showing Tom a place that she was sure that no one else in the world knew about.

Faith could hear Tom jogging behind her; his strides seemed to sound smoother, more concise than her own. Looking back, Faith laughed, seeing a light, almost childish joy reflected in Tom's answering grin. For the time, they were just basking in pure, unadulterated fun, untouched and unblemished by the outside world. On impulse, Faith stuck out her tongue, a taunt, a challenge. Grinning foolishly the pair began to race, wind whipping at their hair, coats flapping in the breeze, whilst spontaneous laughter erupted from their lips.

Faith could feel her body burn from lack of oxygen, her muscles protesting at the three-mile sprint, but once she could see what she longed for in the distance, her pace eased and after a few moments, Tom's did to. "There," Faith nodded towards the dark smear of colour against the pale grey of the winter sky. Tom squinted, hand shielding his eyes against the light as he peered at the small, jutting piece of dark colour. "What is it?" he asked, a frown creasing his features.

"A castle."

Faith began to walk at a more leisurely pace, kicking small stones that littered her path. "Its been here since the sixteen-hundreds," she explained. "For some muggle war over religion. The Irish used to walk out over the sea for intruders from here, the British, I think."

Tom gave Faith a curious look, but did not say anything. It made Faith realise that she would appear to be babbling, a thought that made her wince slightly. "No one knows about it," she added, tugging at a curl that had flown in her line of vision. "I found it a few years ago when Sean took Eric and I here to build sandcastles." The once dark smear had now grown as the pair drew near, rough weathered stone jutting out with its last remains of pride, long forgotten ruins crumbling under the unfamiliar surroundings of the present, a once majestic castle longing for the past, where it was regarded as art, for now it looked like a decaying pageant queen. "We're going to have to climb up," Faith explained, unnecessarily, already grabbing a fistful of rushes at the roots, her right foot finding leverage on a worn-down rock that was fixed into the sandy hill. When she didn't immediately see Tom follow, Faith looked over her shoulder with a frown, only to see Tom looking up at her, arms slightly raised as if to catch her.

"I'm not going to fall," she protested, looking at Tom with incredulity, watching him smile up at her.

"Why don't you jump?" he asked, his voice almost lost to the wind. It seemed eerily close to the thoughts Faith had, standing in the ledge of the cliff, before Tom had appeared. "I'll catch you," he promised, dark eyes boring into her. To Faith, this seemed more than harmless fun, that there was a lot of weight behind this moment, as if Tom was testing the waters, seeing how much Faith trusted him, how much risk she was willing to take.

Faith now faced the same predicament as before, her logic battling with this small, dark feeling that relished the chance to act on impulse, to be the moth that died happily in the light. Before her mind could start up a philosophical debate on the whole situation, Faith did something that only the lone landscape of where they were could invoke her to do.

She let go.

The sensation of falling was not like what Faith had expected. It was an almost weightless feel, with the wind beneath her, it felt like flying, or at least, like a feather slowly drifting towards the ground, a soft, lulling sensation that ebbed within her. All too soon, Faith felt herself being surrounded by warmth, a heat that made her shiver in the sudden contrast of temperatures. Faith looked up to see dark eyes looking down at her, ones widened in surprise. "You did it," he muttered in disbelief, gazing down at Faith like he was seeing her for the first time. "I didn't think you would."

An odd smile flitted across Faith's lips, her chin jutting out so that her face became closer to Tom's. "I didn't think you'd catch me," she confessed softly, her cold body suddenly seeming to burn as Tom's encircled it. The arms holding Faith tightened protectively, almost possessively around Faith, though Tom did not answer. The unspoken truth hung heavily between them in the silence; that Tom hadn't known he would catch her either.

Continuing in this new silence, Tom held Faith tightly as he carried out the rocky path up towards the top of the hill, his movements smooth and effortless, regardless of the load he carried in his arms. Faith's arms snaked around Tom's neck, her head resting against his solid chest. Under the thick layers of clothes, she could almost make out the faint, rhythmic beating of his heart. The heat that lay trapped beneath the thick stands of dark hair warmed the chilled tips of Faith's fingers, causing another delicate shiver to rake through her body.

Once the pair had reached the top, Tom paused for a heartbeat, only to make his way towards the crumbling castle, his pace never faltering under the burden of Faith. It felt strange for Faith, to be held, cradled to Tom's chest, his touch so very different to the way she had experience it before. In the library, his hands were almost bruising in their need; she had felt excited, like she was toying with something dangerous. Now, Faith had this strange feeling of being safe. She could almost fool herself into believing that no one could harm her whilst she stayed in Tom's arms. No one but Tom, that is.

As the old ruins loomed over them, Faith raised her head, almost regretfully, already feeling the absence of Tom's heat. "You can put me down now." For a moment, Faith was sure Tom was about to protest, but after the briefest pause, he nodded, slowing easing her to the ground. Giving Tom as distracted smile, Faith ran her fingers over dark, aged stone, her caress lovingly reverent until it reached a gaping mouth of a door-less entrance. Pausing, Faith looked at Tom, her heart rate speeding as she realised just how much she was going to show Tom. No one knew of Faith's little castle, its ruins isolated in a deserted beach that was too cold for occupation. There would be no one to hear her scream, should she do so. No one to come to her rescue should she need it. But that wasn't it, Faith wasn't scared of Tom hurting her, at least, not physically, it was like she was baring a part of herself to him. A part that no one else had ever seen and probably will never see. She was opening up a part of her, one that she always seemed to keep hidden to the rest of the world, the part that makes her want to jump off cliffs and into Tom's arms. The part that Faith fears the most about herself.

How much time had passed with Faith just staring at Tom, searching for something, though what, Faith didn't know. Finally, she smiled a small, almost melancholy little smile, because she suddenly understood. He had won. It was strange, since she didn't know when it had happened exactly. When she allowed him to stay? When she jumped? Now? Or what it just being held in his arms, knowing that she would never feel safe unless she was in them once more? From the almost regretful glint in Tom's eyes, Faith knew that he saw it too. Faith had though he was the light to her moth, but now she didn't think so. They were both moths, helpless as they slowly died together in the luminosity of love.

Looking away, Faith gazed into the castle, hoping the familiar walls would bring about some sense of strength, a sense of normality. It didn't. The walls just seemed to stare down at her with a vacant expression, years of life leaving them passive to the world around them, their only goal; to survive, to carry on a legacy that would soon be forgotten anyway.

Slipping inside, Faith and Tom gazed at the narrow little square patch of rocks that lay entwined together. It wasn't really a castle, more like a part of a tower; it's higher floors long gone, as was its roof. A small, crudely carved box of a window expelled some weak, cool sunlight into the dark little tower, a small ray of hope for the hopeless debris.

Settling onto the cool, crisp grass that replaced a once stone floor, Faith laid back, crimson hair fanning out behind her, her neck chilling at the sensation of frosty blades bristling against sensitive skin. She watched from the corner of her eye as Tom settled against the wall farthest from her, knees drawn up as he watched her with an unreadable expression. "You look like Sleeping Beauty," he said at last, voice low, almost not uttered at all.

Gazing up at the gaping sky, exposed by the absence of a roof, Faith frowned, brows puckering in confusion. "Sleeping what?" she heard a chuckle, a sudden, unexpected one that made Faith sit up, her elbows supporting her as she looked at Tom curiously. "It's a muggle story," he explained. "About a princess that pricked her finger on a spindle and feel asleep for a hundred years. Only a kiss of true love could break the curse and awaken her."

"Is it a true story?" Faith gasped, eyes widening at the thought, though what really surprised her was a rare titbit of Tom. It was are enough for him to admit he was raised by muggles, let alone share part of their culture with her. She watched as Tom grinned at her, amused for some reason. "Of course not," he scoffed, though there was a pleased gleam in his dark eyes. "It's just a story told for kids." He looked at Faith again, with an assessing stare. "Aren't you cold?" Without warning, Tom leaned forward, on hands and knees, fingers outstretched to brush one chilled cheek. Suspended over her, Faith could feel heat radiating off Tom, a delicious feel that contrasted sharply with the child underneath her.

In one swift movement, Tom's wand appeared in his hand, flicking it smoothly soft that a jet of bright orange flames erupted from the tip, hovering a couple of metres from the ground. "What?" he laughed once he caught sight of Faith's disapproving glare. "I'm almost seventeen anyway, what's a little magic going to do?" settling on his side, beside Faith, hand cupping his chin, Tom watched as the glow of the flame bathed Faith's face with a golden light. "When is you birthday?" Faith asked, curious, as she lay down amongst the grass once more, looking up at an amused Tom. "The Thirty-first," he replied absently, a long pale finger running over the line of Faith's small nose and down to the line of her mouth. "Of this month." Under the orange glow, Tom could see the silver-ish grey flecks that lined the rim of Faith's pupil, a colour usually lost and forgotten amongst the wondrous sea of emerald green. Slytherin colours, he though absently, watching as she watched him. Perfect.

The pair wasn't sure how long they spent in the castle, just two moths huddled around their little light, wrapped in each other's arms, light touches of fingertips exploring the expanse of each other. The day dimmed until the sun began to set in the western horizon, bathing the sea with a light blush of colour.

"We should be getting back," Tom sighed, though he made no move to leave, much to Faith's pleasure. "No," she replied stubbornly, giving a little scowl at the though of retiring home to her mother and her bothers. "We can stay here forever."

There was a moment of pause, one that stirred within Faith restlessly as she thought she said something wrong. Looking up at Tom, Faith bit her lip, seeking some light in the alien expression on his face. "Would you want to live forever, Faith?" he asked, his tone oddly heavy with emotion for such a harmless question.

Faith opened her mouth for some witty retort, but it died on her lips. Looking at the ghostly ball of heat that lay close to them, keeping them warm, Faith sighed. "Only if I had something to live that long for." She said. "Otherwise, what's the point?"

Note: I mixed up the dates on a couple of chapters (my bad), the year is actually 1943, since they are in their sixth year. Please forgive me; I'm kind of scatter-brained. The next chapter will be set in 1944 though

Oh God, that chapter took me forever, so I am sorry that it is late. Just feel that I need to thank you guys for sticking with me this far, I know my typos are icky and my timing is terrible. Your comments so far have been beyond wonderful, I have had to look at them a couple of times to spur myself on in finishing this long chapter.

**Also, I want to add that from this point on, the story will be a little more fast-paced. I had taken it slow up until now because I wanted to establish a relationship between Faith and Tom and I wanted to capture the uncertainty and the growth of it. But now that's out of the way, the actual plot can take place, though I will try to hold onto the essence of the pair's love. **

**Please please please, bare with me, chapters should be coming more frequent now, but regardless, my lax-y daisy attitude can override everything else. **

**Warning: Next chapter, expect a lot of, uh, mature scenes and strong language.**

**You have been warned**

**Much love my sweetie-pies,**

**Forever,**

**Lisa **

**xxx**


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine:

Present Day, 2010

"That Christmas passed in a blissful haze," Faith said, recalling the careless feel she had experienced whether she was with Tom. "I forgot about my mother, about Eric. We would slip out together and not return until the dead of night, staying in our little castle, where we would be the king and queen." Smiling, Faith's fingers fiddled with her wedding rings, a strange light shining in her eyes. "When it came to his birthday, I actually baked. I think my mother thought I was overcome with madness, smeared with flour and icing. I bought him a diary; thick expensive leather bound one. I had told him he could put part of his soul into the words he wrote – I didn't think he would ever actually take me seriously." Looking at the black expression Albert gave her, Faith sighed. "It will all become clear later, Mr Tennyson. But for now, both Tom and I was finally an official couple. I believe it meant something more in my time, then in yours."

"And what was that like?"

Faith looked at Albert for a long moment, her gaze unwavering. "Wonderful," she said at last. "At least for the most part. When we were happy, it seemed like the whole of Hogwarts was happy alongside us. When we argued, the occupants of Hogwarts suffered along with us."

"How so?" Albert asked, his brow rising in question.

_January 8th 1944_

Tom pressed his body up close to Faith's, his hands running along the pale, exposed skin of her hips, her blouse and skirt lay discarded somewhere on the floor, lost amongst the clutter of brooms and mops of the caretaker's closet. Like Faith, Tom's body was exposed, garments carelessly through in all directions in their haste to touch. Tom felt like moaning as small pale hands played with the thick strands of chestnut hair, their movements light and quick, like a butterfly's brush of wings, a feather-soft kiss that diverged against his strong, persistent and demanding hands that roamed over her whole body. Her small, full lips nibbled along the line of his neck, delicate little bites scraping over the hammering pulse that lay caged within his veins, while soft flesh wrapped around his waist, teasingly brushing against his own skin, an eruption of goose bumps littering over the place of contact, sending delectable shivers through them both.

Eagerly, Tom hoisted Faith up, her legs wrapping around his waist tightly, her body rocking slightly to a tempo that only she could seem to hear. Now, with their heights matching, their lips could meet, their kiss tantalizingly half way between the two extremes of their touches. Both demanding and delicate.

Tom tried to fist his hands into Faith's red curls, but found that he couldn't, as her crimson mane was efficiently pinned to her head, with only a few stray curls tumbling down, mocking him. Tearing his mouth from hers, Tom let out a frustrated grown, hands fumbling to undo the pins. Laughing breathlessly, Faith leaned against the wall for support; her tight hold on Tom's waits the only thing holding her up as she helped him extract little pins, one at a time. The term; needle in a haystack could be accurately applied. "Such a useless invention, Tom hissed, clumsily trying to take out another, though it seemed to be lost under a mass of red curls. "I don't know why women bother."

Grinning, Faith stilled Tom's hands with her own before removing the pin with ease. "Well," she said with amusement coiling through every word. "Next time you plan to whisk me away off into the caretakers' closet, I'll try and make things a little more easy for you, shall I?"

Foiled by the cunning little mind games of the pins, Tom gave up, his eyes darkening as his thoughts turned to something with a lot more appeal. Hands snaking around Faith's waits, Tom crushed her body to his, relishing the feel of her pert, swelled chest pressing against his. Distracted, Tom hardly noticed when Faith's hands stilled. "Tom?" she whispered, her hand pushing at his chest so that there was enough space between them to look at each other. "Did you hear that?"

"Hmmmm?"

"Tom!" Faith hissed, just as a clear voice, near than to the one that Faith had heard before called out. "Mr Riddle, Miss Summers. Come out of that closet at once." There was no mistaking the ringing authority in Albus Dumbledore's voice, or the smaller, more hesitant one that followed. "Perhaps Albus," Professor Dipplet began. "They are not in there?"

"I assure you Armando, the pair are in there." In a much more unyielding voice, Dumbledore addressed Faith and Tom. "I suggest you both come out now before you attract a crowd." Wincing at the thought of the pressing eyes of Hogwarts staring at her, Faith looked towards Tom with a pleading look. "Oh no," he whispered once he understood what she was asking. "Faith – no."

"Well, I can't exactly just go out, looking like this." Faith peered down at her scantily clad body, which bore nothing but her pearly-white silk underwear, one Faith thought smugly, that complemented the slightest golden hue to her skin. "It would be more appropriate if you went out, just until I've dressed – please Tom," she begged. Tom's dark eyes seemed to sear through the dim lighting of the tiny box cupboard, one that made Faith squirm a little, but her gaze did not waver either. Finally, "Alright," he sighed, stepping away from her. "But don't take too long."

Faith watched as Tom stepped out, his stride confident despite the fact that all he wore was his dark grey boxers. Grinning to herself, Faith quickly retrieved her blouse and skirt, a wicked idea slowly forming in her mind. Smirking, Faith hastily slipped into her skirt, throwing on her blouse without buttoning it, before grabbing the remaining garments, excitement bubbling to her lips.

Silently as she could, Faith peered out of the cupboard, immediately catching sigh of the two professors and Tom. Dumbledore looked furious, though Faith wasn't sure why, since students had been caught in various rooms in Hogwarts, in much more compromising positions before. Dippet caught sigh of Faith, his mouth opening in an attempt to call her over for her own lecture. Smiling at her headmaster, Faith put a finger to her lips, absently surprised when Dippet compiled. Clutching her tights and shoes – along with Tom's clothes – Faith broke off into a run, leaving Tom standing in the hall with nothing but his underwear.

"Faith!" he yelled, chasing after her, leaving the two professors behind. Unable to keep it in anymore, Faith laughed, a high, wild, joyous sound, one that Tom echoed as he drew closer towards her. Already, there were students peering out of their classes, mouths a-gape at the sigh of Faith Summers and Thomas Riddle running along the hall, looking wild and free.

As the pair drew near to the dungeons, they had already begun to collect a large amount of spectators, Horace Slughorn, their head of house, one of them. Shaking his head, the portly man crossed his arms over his beefy chest. "That the third time you two have been caught – I do believe discretion is the word."

"Yes Professor," Tom nodded solemnly, yet he scooped Faith up in his arms, causing her to let out a surprised squeal from her lips. "Tom," she half-laughed, half-screamed. "Put me down."

"Revenge, Miss Summers." Tom said, doing an accurate imitation of Slughorn as he carried her off towards the Slytherin common room. "Is the word."

Present Day 2010

Unable to help himself, Albert found himself smiling along with Faith at the endearing memory, a part of him wondering just why Thomas Riddle had wanted to become Voldemort, when he seemed to have it all – good looks, talent, Faith Summers. But then, who really knew what went on in the mind of Voldemort? Or any dictator? Power, most likely.

Watching Albert, Faith's smile slipped, almost as though she could read his mind, or at least, his expression. "Being with Tom was always an extreme. The good times were beyond anything you could hope to imagine. The bad times?" the light in Faith's eyes dimmed, vivid green looking away from Albert. "The bad times." She sighed, voice weary, regretful. "We both hid things from each other, Tom and I. We always did, right up until the very end. I would like to say it was our secrets that drove us apart. That way, if I was ever to be given the chance to do over my life, I could amends my wrongs, perhaps I could live on knowing that we had a hope of knowing that a happy ending was possible. But no," Faith looked back at Albert, a sudden fire in her eyes. "Secrets did not drive us apart, it was _us_. _We_ did it. Don't ever forget, Mr Tennyson," Faith warned. "That despite everything that I shall tell you, I loved and was loved in return by the most hated and feared man of our time. I did not achieve that on whim or luck. Nor was it my looks, my intelligence. For there are women far more beautiful than I, far more clever. No, Tom loved me – or felt the closest thing he could to love – because he saw something in me, something that matched a part of him. Two halves of a whole, two shadows in a world of light. Two moths to a flame, willing to die for something that no one else would risk." Watching Albert, Faith smiled, though it wasn't a pleasant one, in fact, it set the young wizard on edge. "I am not a nice person, Mr Tennyson. Perhaps I was in the beginning, though I doubt it. I've tried to be good, really I have, for what good it did me. The only time I was ever happy is when I've indulged myself, when I have given in to emotions that I'm sure would frighten dear Bellatrix Lastrange." Faith rolled her eyes, waving her hand in a fluttering motion, as if to dismiss something, though what, Albert did not know. "I've had a few clashes with said Bellatrix, though again, we're getting too ahead of ourselves. All in good time. Now," she paused fixing Albert with her vivid green eyes. "Being the love of Thomas Riddle's life wasn't as wonderful and as fairytale-like as you'd think. We were two stubborn, headstrong individuals that, for whatever reason, would not back down. The thing we both hated most were to be made a fool out of, something that Tom and I did, when we decided to keep secrets."

February 28th, 1944

The cloying scent of burning chemicals felt like a second home to Faith, the rivets of smoke, coiling luxuriously, seductively, made her glance towards the figure that sat beside her, much to the disappointment of his little followers. Thomas Riddle had his arm slung lazily around the back of Faith's chair, a subtle display of possession, an animalistic instinct to ward off any male rivals. Faith half expected Tom to roar the moment a poor, unsuspecting boy should look her way. Her independent, more feminist side clearly felt ire towards Tom, though there was no denying the satisfaction she felt whenever a girl would look at her with obvious envy, especially moments after the pair had been locked in an embrace. Though, there always seemed to be a teacher or another ready and willing to pull them apart before things could get to, uh, intimate.

In the beginning, this had frustrated Faith to no end, her young hormonal-self feeling deprived of something that her body so desperately craved. Yet, as they days went on, Faith began to feel relieved that she and Tom had not consummated their relationship. It wasn't the idea that she didn't want to, more like she just didn't see the rush. Though Tom had never shown a thought of pursuing the idea, or pushing Faith, she believed that Tom thought only of the delay as a result to the prying eyes of Hogwarts. Nothing more.

It was Mrs Summers who confirmed Faith's belief in prolonging the wait, though how the woman found out about them, was still a mystery to Faith. Perhaps Dippet or Dumbledore had written to her, hoping dear Mother Summers would invoke some sense into her daughter. But Faith suspected it to be Eric, hoping that her mother – an avid and proud pureblood – would put a stop to the pairs little involvement. Whether it be Eric or a professor, they couldn't be more wrong – in fact, Bridget Summers has written to Faith, congratulating her daughter. Faith could almost hear the wedding bells going off in her mother's head, thinking that there must be hope in the world if a talent and intellectual young man such as Thomas Riddle could actually want to put up with Faith.

_Take it slow,_ Bridget advised. _Never show that you're too eager. A girl's got to have standards. Do not be too compliant – though I'm sure that is not a task for you. Keep him guessing Faith. But most of all: do not disgrace yourself until you are married. It will ruin you, should you be deflowered before it is socially correct. Remember – a man can be replace. Your innocence cannot._

When it came to Slughorn inspecting the final batch of potions, he gave a low chuckle at the sight of Faith and Tom, the perfect couple, yet still competing to produce the best. "My my," Slughorn remarked, marking off something on his parchment, which he keep quite close to his chest. "Should I be so bold as to suggest that if the pair of you marry, all I can say is that whatever children you produce will be a force to be reckoned with in the Potions Lab." Tom smirked, whilst many Slytherins sniggered, someone making a crude comment about how children may be an actual possibility the way Tom and Faith were 'at it'.

Faith scowled slightly, though Tom rubbed at her back soothingly. Regardless at what Faith and Tom were doing and not doing, Hogwarts seemed determined exaggerate the whole situation. It shouldn't matter as much to Tom, for it would seem that it was always the man who came out of the whole thing a hero, whilst the woman was branded many things, especially amongst her fellow, bitter women.

After declaring it a tie between Faith and Tom – the only way to keep the peace in his classroom – Slughorn dismissed the class, shooing them off to break. "You go ahead," Tom said suddenly, once he noticed Faith waiting for him. "I need to ask ol' Slug something." Smiling at her, Tom gave her a quick kiss on the forehead before, gently pushing her towards the direction of the door. "I'll see you for lunch," he promised, when Faith didn't immediately obey.

Anger flared up in Faith as she followed the departing crowd out. As ashamed as she was to admit it, Faith was seen as a pariah amongst her fellow female students. She hated it, hated it even more so at the sacrifice she had to make just be with Tom, whist he seemed to growing in popularity. It made Faith dependant on Tom in a way that every fibre within her detested. She was a pureblood Summers – someone who demands respect. Not to be ordered around like a little floozy but Tom dismissing her seemed to be the last straw.

If Faith had been a Gryffindor, she would have stormed back into Slughorn's classroom and demanded that Tom told her what he was up to. A Ravenclaw? Faith would have devised a plan to outwit him, perhaps make a fool out of him in front of their peers, something that would also gain her some level of respect. If she were a Hufflepuff, Faith most probably would have told Tom calmly that she did not deserved to be treated the way she was being treated and that Tom should change his attitude or find himself someone else to feel up in one of Hogwarts many closets.

But Faith was none of the above. She was a Slytherin, perhaps not the best, but she came from a house she was proud of. And one thing she could do, was find out what Tom was up to.

The Slytherin common room was mercifully empty, save from a few that littered around the fireplace. Apparently, Dumbledore had sprung a surprise Transfiguration test, one that would be given to all years. Last minute revision at its best.

Even if Faith weren't as good at her studies as she was, she would have deemed discovering Tom's secret of larger importance. With confidence, Faith slipped up to the boys' dormitory, ignoring the sniggers she received and the knowing glints of some seventh-year boy. Her reputation was already in tatters, what did it matter now? Faith knew of Tom's dorm, though not for reason people may believe. The pair had spent hours upon hours lounging on Tom's bed, just arguing about simple matters, other times fabricating a world, a utopia, where magic didn't have to be hidden from muggles, where witches and wizards could be free to co-exist amongst the non-magic folk without fear. They were silly little games; ones that made them laugh most of the time at the absurdity of it all.

Closing the door behind her, Faith made a beeline towards Tom's truck, disappointment already etched on her face when she saw nothing but a few spare pairs of clothes, ink wells, parchment and a few potion ingredients yet to be used. Sitting back on her haunches, Faith glared suspiciously around the room, knowing that she had to be careful to put everything back as it was. The fact that dorms were shared didn't help Faith in her quest to unlock the riddles of Tom.

Faith checked under beds, on shelves, behind pillows, in drawers, yet with no avail. Green eyes scanning the room, Faith was becoming increasingly aware of the fact that break was almost over and that it would look suspicious to Tom, should Faith turn up to their Herbology class late. Grimacing slightly, Faith's gaze rested on Tom's wardrobe. Of course Tom had managed to convince the other boys of his dorm that he deserved to have the large wardrobe for himself, leaving the other three to share draws in a small chest.

Lightly padding towards the large oak, Faith felt a flutter inside her, something…_calling_ to her. It was the only way she could describe it. Even if Faith couldn't find out Tom's secret, what she would discover inside could overcome any disappointment she may feel. At first glance, the contents looked ordinary, normal. So much so, that if Faith hadn't felt the peculiar feeling that she felt, she would have dismissed the wardrobe and give up completely.

But no, underneath a pile of dark cloaks, lay a neat stack of books, musty and archaic. Intrigued, Faith eased out the top title, glancing at the faded gold lettering.

Mastering Death by R. W. Hopkins

Brow furrowing in confusion, Faith pulled out another; _Life beyond the grave, Living Forever, The Dark Arts – The Darkest Acts. _In disbelief, Faith flipped open a cover a random, looking for any indication where these books came from. The Forbidden Section. Three words that seemed to grow, ink swelling before Faith, overriding any thoughts she may have had. Her mind began to whirl, gaze drawn to the book that lay beneath a couple of other dark titles. Shutting the book she had in her hand, Faith, with shaking hands, reached for the buried book. _Slazer Slytherin; a pure bloodline._ Relief washed through Faith, who was expecting another disturbing title. Carelessly, she flicked through the book, wondering why it would hold appeal to Tom. A marked page drew her attention. _Making my job easier, eh Tom?_ She though with a small smile, though Faith knew she had nothing to smile about.

Scanning the page Faith was about to dismiss it's content, when a world caught her attention, stilling her.

_Marvolo._

She _knew_ that name.

Retreating the words, Faith found that one of the last descendants of Slytherin was a Marvolo Gaunt, who bore a son and daughter, though their names were unknown. Why would Tom have the same name as a descendant of Slytherin, when he was raised by muggles?

Little things began to slide into place, why Tom would have this book, his hate for muggles, the heir of Slytherin returning. The book tumbled out of Faith's hands before she realised she dropped it. It felt like she had been burned. Looking around her, Faith half-expected to see Tom standing at the doorway, dressed as some villain, saying how she knew his secret and how he would have to kill her now. The thought spurred Faith on into action, as she hastily place the book back, throwing the discarded cloaks over the in a natural pose, before shutting the door quickly, heart hammering at an alarming rate. Raking a trembling hand through coils of red hair, Faith let out an unsteady breath, trying to calm herself. Slowly, Faith began to walk again and when she did, she left Tom's dorm with a sickening sensation that made her run to Madame LeFroy's infirmary before emptying the contents of her stomach.

By the end of the school day, Hogwarts was ablaze with scandalous rumours of Faith and Tom. Many consisted of Faith being pregnant; some were even so bold as to suggest that she was dying of some incurable disease and that she had only days to live, days that she and Tom would spend in each other's arms. If Faith hadn't felt as though her world was crashing down around her, she would have laughed at the absurdity of it all. How easily Hogwarts was amused by the Tom/Faith relationship. But Faith couldn't muster a smile, even when Tom stormed into the infirmary, his pale face drawn and filled with genuine concern. The look of utter distress that was etched onto Tom's face should have warmed some part of Faith. It didn't. It turned a part of Faith cold, like the trickle of ice slithering down her spine, settling in the pit of her stomach, resting heavily, threatening Faith with another wave of nausea.

"Faith," Tom breathed out her name, a cool hand cupping her cheek as his dark eyes searched over her. "What's wrong? Are you okay?" his free hand came to rest, backhanded, on her forehead, testing the heat against his fingers. "Your warm," he noted, brow furrowing as he pushed back some stray copper curls, fingers running soothingly through them.

"Really?" Faith asked, her eyes fluttering closed involuntarily, languishing the feel of his fingers in her hair, regardless of what she knew. "I thought you were just cold." Forcing herself to look at Tom, Faith searched those brown depths, trying to find the Slytherin heir, of the one who sanctioned the killing of some muggle girl the previous year. It made her question how clean his hands actually were. In Faith's mind, she could see his hands leaving a trail of blood in her hair, smearing it against her locks, of merging the two shades of red together.

His eyes were the same, just as they always have been. A deep, dark brown that could be black, if you didn't dare to look long enough. Tom's face was pinched in worry, worry for her. How could someone so evil care so much? "Faith?" Tom's voice seemed ethereal, floating from some far off place, just barely reaching her. "What's wrong?" Faith dimly recalled that Tom had said those words moments before, only now; they had a whole different meaning. There was a steeled edge to his voice, sharp, one that made Faith's breath hitch.

Small fingers brushed against the cool curve of Tom's cheek. Faith had to marvel at just how small, just how fragile those fingers looked against the solid strength of Thomas Riddle. Compared to the unnatural pale of his skin, Faith's fingers almost burned with a golden glow, accentuating just how much the two could differ.

Running along the sharp pale line of Tom's cheekbone, Faith whispered softly, "When where you going to tell me that you are Slytherin's heir?" She watched as Tom jerked back from her touch, like the golden light in her fingers had actually burned him, eyes wide for a moment for surprise, before they narrowed, regarding Faith in a suspicious new light. "How did you know?" he asked at last, the hand that toyed with Faith's hair now stilled, fisted with some embers of red.

"What?" Faith demanded, keeping her voice low. "Did you think I wouldn't find out?" She saw a flicker in Tom's eyes, an emotion, and an answer that she didn't like. "You did, didn't you?" Faith gaped as she struggled to think.

"Don't do this Faith," Tom's hiss was low, ominous. "Trust me, you won't like it."

Something swept over Faith, a strange, alien feeling – fear. "Why?" her mouth suddenly dry, Faith tried to lick her lips. "What are you going to do?"

She watched as Tom glanced around him, taking in the seemingly empty infirmary and it's absent of Madame LeFroy, a scatter-brained mother hen that was just a few years shy of her retirement. When his gaze turned back to Faith, something inside of her stilled, just before her pulse spiked within her. Tom's hand snaked around Faith's upper arm, harshly yanking her from her bed, his vice-like hold proving to be her only support when she stumbled. "Tom…" Faith's voice froze at the withering look she received, accompanied by the flexing of Tom's hand over her slight arm, an almost effortless display of his physical power over her. "You want answers?" Tom's breath tickled the exposed skin just behind her ear, causing a delicate shiver to rake through her body. Even now, fearing him, Tom could still invoke something in Faith that burned a part of her that had lay dormant up until she and Tom had first kissed. "I'll give you your answers."

With a brutal tug, Tom marched towards the a-jar doors of the infirmary and out into the deserted halls of Hogwarts. _Where is everyone?_ Faith thought frantically, her mind whirling. _Just how late is it?_ It must have been late, from sight of the still and isolated castle. It irony didn't escape Faith – the one time she did not wished to be alone with Tom, there was no one around to catch them. All those little fleeting moments of indulging her lust for Tom now seemed so trivial, so insignificant. Staring at Tom, it was hard for Faith to place the boy she loved with the strange that dragged her harshly.

Dimly, Faith could see from the eerily low lights from the floating candles that they were drawing near an all too familiar place. "The girl's bathroom?" Faith's voice rose an octave higher, heart pounding manically. It was the same bathroom that the muggle-girl had died in, the same muggle that had been killed by the heir of Slytherin.

"No," Faith shook her head, her heels digging in forcefully into the ground beneath her. "Let me go!" Hysterically, Faith struck out blindly, her body twisting in every direction possible, determined to be released for Tom's grasp. Her leg collided with some part of Tom – Faith no longer cared what. "_Shit_," he swore. "You little…"

"You _fucking _– " There was no word that Faith could conceive of that would describe just how much she hated Tom at that moment. She was ashamed to admit that tears were rolling freely down her cheeks, her body shaking vehemently with her blatant fear. Helplessly, Faith's small fists pounded against Tom's hard chest, doing nothing more than make him wince.

Tom stared down at Faith, her small frame violently shaking against his, her eyes wide and fearful as she looked up at him. Strands of copper-wire hair clung to her dampened cheeks, ones that were swollen and red. There was something in her eyes that made him still, yet at the same time, ignited a fury within Tom that he could hardly contain. He couldn't understand it, but more importantly, he could not understand Faith. Even now, she feared him – yet there was a fire behind her eyes that seemed to be like a light in a fog, a beacon that shine through the haze that shrouded it. Tom was used to the fear – he relished it, as it gave him something to strive for – a reminder of what he never wanted to be. Afraid.

But Faith's anger was something different. It bordered on loathing and yes, at that moment; Tom did not doubt that she loathed him. He didn't like it, but he did not blame her. And that's what Tom hated. Hr hated that when he wanted to hate her, he couldn't and yet, when she wanted to hate him, he agreed. Just looking at her now, Tom wanted to take her in his arms, to hold that trembling body until it stilled, melted against him like so many other times. The need to run his lips across the glistening tear-tracks that lined her cheeks burned with him, a surging swell of desire that fired down deep inside him, a dark and eager place that should not be stirring eagerly, not now, not when all that he worked for was at stake. All because this stupid witch was smarter – far smarter – than Tom could believe. "Oh for-" Tom swore again, his dark eyes glaring into the darkness that loomed around them, on the fringe of the candlelight. All it took was one small noise, one wrong move that would alert Dumbledore. It was a risk Tom could not take.

As a panicked Faith gazed up at Tom, her small fists ceasing with effort, now beating feebly against him, Tom's free hand slipped between his robed and pulled out his wand. Narrowly missing another hit from Faith, Tom bent his head and brushed his lips against the exposed and unguarded skin of her forehead and thought _stupefy. _

Faith's limp body crumbled into his arms.

**Note: **

** Okays, so…. what do you think? Don't worry; the next chapter will kick off right from where this one stopped, so you don't miss out. How was this chapter since this one is the first of my more 'fast-paced' ones? I've tried to make the pair's relationship a bit steamier but it's hard to avoid the whole 'Mills&Boon' cliché. I also thought that I would make their relationship a wee bit more twisted, but again, it's hard since I want so much for Tom to be a good guy who genuinely loves Faith. But alas, I don't think it's meant to be. Or is it? (Ah, don't you just love my riddles?) Stay tuned to find out. **

**Ps. Muchos loveos to the BEAUTIFUL comments, I adore them. I get all mushy when I read them. **

**PPs. I don't usually promote other stories of mine, as it goes against my ethics (You all have a right to choose what you ready without influence) but I am genuinely exited about this new one I'm writing (there's a lot, but this one is serious) It kind of reminds me of _Limitations of Love_. **

**Anyways, it's called _Rapture: The Bellatrix and Rodolphus Story_, and its all-very 'Taming of the shrew' (for those who read Shakespeare). As always, I cannot write those frilly little romance stories, but have to put something dark and twisted into them. Basically, it's the beginning to Bellatrix and Rodolphus' relationship and considering just _who _those two are; I guess you can tell it's going to be messed up.**

**Anyways, Adios Mi Ninos ;)**

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

**Love you,**

Lisa 


	10. Chapter 10

**To my dearest little Tom/Faith (Faitom – can I call it that? It sounds kind of weird) followers…THANK YOU. I know I've been taking the piss with my belated updates. My only excuse? A levels are a cold son of bitch, man. I'm starting this chapter in a free period. You guys deserve so much more and such a better author, really you do. Your comments are like single rays of sunlight in a world shrouded with darkness, even if you are just telling me to hurry my ass along. **

**I suppose, what I'm trying to say is that every single comment so far is so special to me and they are the reason why I'm continuing. Finally, thank you to my nameless motivator – really, since I got your comment, I've been planning this chapter out and wanting to write again. Oh and please, never be afraid to tell me that I owe you guys a chapter. **

**All my love xxx**

**Lisa.**

* * *

Chapter Ten:

_January 9th, 1944_

Memories stirred at the fringe of Faith Summers' consciousness, teasing and fragmented, blurred until she struggled to piece them together, to make sense of what was merely a dream and what was reality. She didn't want to wake; she wanted to bask in the warmth that surrounded her, the feel of silken sheets beneath her, and the soft lull of fingers gently combing her hair. She turned, seeking out more of the feel, the gentle touch of her tresses being caressed. Faith immerse herself with heat, sighing contently when solid arms encircled her, the rhythmic thuds of a heart sounded under the chest she rested her head on, rising and falling softly with each intake of breath.

"You stun me," she muttered softly, nuzzling her head closer to the strong chest, seeking out a spot of comfort. "And then you whisk me away. I never pegged you to be a romantic, Thomas Riddle." The body that surrounded her stiffened, before a low rumble of laughter made the chest on which Faith lay hum, a soft smile curving her lips at the sound, despite herself. With closes eyes, she toyed with the buttons of Tom's crumpled shirt, mildly surprised that the pair had slept in their uniform. The world around them was silent, still, but she could smell the soft burn of scented candles, the cloying scent that fragranced the air. It was a hypnotic atmosphere, seeming to steal away your thoughts, making you want to not think at all. Dimly, Faith knew that she should have been angry, fearful, of Tom. But she wasn't.

How could she be? Not when he held her so.

"I'm many things Faith," Tom answered, still playing with copper-wire strands of hair, watching the vivid colour burn against the orange glow of the flickering candles. "I suppose romantic could be one of them." To Tom, the sight of Faith's hair, running through his fingers like red silk, left him in a trance. The way soft curls coiled around long pale fingers, yielding to his will, yet somehow, fiercely in control of him. He wasn't sure if he was playing with Faith's hair because he wanted to, or because she was willing it so. But then, that was always the case with them, neither knowing who was truly pulling the strings, which of them was the puppet complying.

Silence settled between the two, leaving Tom to watch as his fingers idly toyed with the locks of Faith's hair whilst she lay there, content to hear their gentle breaths and the strong beat of his heart. Finally, Faith managed to peak one eye open, watching Tom through the narrow slit, green glowing against the dim lighting. "Where are we?" she asked, watching an amused smile etch itself onto Tom's lips. "Our new broom closet," he mumbled, his grin widening as both of Faith's eyes opened, flitting with surprise. "The Room of Requirements," He explained, then catching note of her blank expression, he sighed. "You really don't pay any attention to the history of this school, do you?"

Raising a brow, Faith smirked, lifting her head slightly to look at Tom. "No," she drawled, lazily running her fingers up and down the length of his shirt, feeling the muscles beneath jump and clench under her touch. "I have better things to be doing with my free time." She began to draw small patterns, intricate little designs, using Tom's shirt as her canvas, her green gaze flicking back up to meet his, the rich colour bleeding dark olive. The look seemed to pin Tom, the intensity, the power behind it made the smile slip from his lips, his hand stilling in the tumbling mass of her red hair.

There was no gentleness in the kiss that they shared next, Tom's hands fisting into red curls, seeking strength, purchase as small white teeth bit down on his bottom lip. Tom groaned, roughly cupping her cheek, soft pliable skin beneath his fingertips yielding to his strength. He forced her forward, had it so Faith body nestled between his, her back arching, body dipping low, straddling him. Tom's hand that lay clenched in Faith's hair left the crimson locks, running down her curved spine, bidding a delectable shiver from her body, raking her length, trembling against him. His hand rested against her bare thigh, his thumb lightly brushing at the exposed inner skin, feeling the muscles beneath supple white flesh tense.

"Tom," Faith's voice was soft, breathy in Tom's ear, the light exhale tickling. Faith nuzzled against his neck, her eyes closed a she breathed in the scent of him, the clean, sharp scent with the underlay tang of chemicals from the Potions Lab…it was all him. All Tom. Placing a kiss against the sharp line of his haughty jaw, Faith whispered against his skin. "Tell me why you killed that muggleborn." Underneath her, Faith felt Tom's body still, the weight of his hands against her bare skin was suddenly immense, the heightened awareness of herself, of him. She could feel his heart beating against her chest, steady and solid, so far to the fluttering, almost hummingbird-like rhythm of her own.

Moments, minutes, centuries passed them by, the silence seeming to both consume the time and savour it. Finally, Faith willed herself to look up, to meet the burning depths of Tom's eyes, of molten brown that seemed to burn with cold fury. "You can't just leave it be, can you, Faith?" The voice was tight, controlled, suppressed with his anger. It sent fear crawling down Faith's throat, like bile, burning painfully, thick and heavy with unease. "You always have to push," Tom continued, staring at her with that same, level, heated expression. "You won't leave anything well alone – always demanding, always wanting answers. Never satisfied."

Faith started to move away, her body chilled with her disbelief, her lips parting, her face paling. But Tom was quicker, faster as shi hands snaked around her wrists, tug at the frail-feeling bones, his body moving with almost feline grace, movements smooth as he twisted her body, turning so that it was he who now lay suspended over her. Tom glared at the pale face and bejewelled green eyes that gazed up at him, watched as the fine, delicate features twisted, just as nails bit into the skin just above his own wrists. "Get. Off. Me." Each word was hissed out with assiduousness, full lips forming each syllable with a sensuous nature that Thomas Riddle found himself falling, his mind losing itself to Faith's siren ways.

"No." Tom had to forcefully bear down upon her, squeezing against the fine boning of her wrists, watching with satisfaction as pain clouded her eyes. "You want to know all my secrets, Faith. Yet you are unwilling to part with your own." Tom sneered, loathing twisting his features, distorting and marring his boyishly handsome face. "You conniving _whore._ Do you believe me to be a fool, Faith? Do you?" Tom leaned close, his face millimetres from the witch that lay trapped beneath him, watching as lips parted, then closed, stubbornly set as emerald eyes burned with their own fire.

Faith's silence only seemed to fuel Tom's anger; a fierce sense of elation overcame him, coursing through him the molten. "Where do you go after classes, Faith?" It was more jeering than anything else, like Tom would rather flaunt the fact that he knew she had secrets than actually discerning them. "With who? Who are you seeing?" He watched as Faith blinked, dark lashes that framed green eyes with small flecks of silver, watched as the fire flickered within those depths like a wind was stirring at the flames. Tom watched as Faith watched him, saw the silent understanding in her eyes, the way her anger and fear fled, replaced by a weary look, one that was far beyond her years.

"Faith?" Tom gazed down at her, for a moment, forgetting himself. Forgetting everything. It was a look he had never seen before, one so unfamiliar, it made him uneasy. It was like looking at a familiar stranger, the same face, the same littering if amber freckles and emerald-silver eyes. She was still Faith, yet Tom couldn't quite fathom what made her so different. His hand twitched, a small, involuntary movement, but one that was easily suppressed. A part of him wanted to taker her in his arms, to find some way to rid that look from her face. He could see it, see that she saw the urge, for her eyes pleaded for it, even if Faith's pride would never have her utter it.

"Let me go, Tom." Faith's voice was soft, so unlike anything Tom had ever heard. This wasn't how he imagined it, imagined anything with Faith. She was supposed to yell back, to hurdle curses and spells at him. She was his fire, his scorching heat that kept the chill at bay. It was like the cold had gotten to his flame, seeping through her veins until she could only look up at him with an almost empty look of loss. Tom didn't want to let go. He swallowed, a painful action that had seemed so mundane up until now. There were words to be said, spoken out against the heavy silence between them. Three words, eight letters. She would never say it first, and yet, when Thomas Riddle felt as though he ought to say them. He couldn't.

It was like every fibre in his being was refusing for him to speak those three words. Three magic words that would make things better, to make it all go away and have it so Faith would stay with him. She could see it, Tom was sure of that. Faith could see Tom's pride warring with that unspoken word of emotion that they both seemed to feel, no, _endure. _For it was like a burden, a millstone around their necks, weighing them both down. He let go. Tom's hands dropped from Faith's wrists, the imprint of his grip, red against the pale gold skin, was naught but a ghost of where he had once been. There would be bruises, purple stains of him upon her.

Faith flexed her hands, easing up from the silken folds of the bed; her gaze adverted from Tom's, though there seemed to be no need. Neither could look the other in the eye. Sliding out from under him, Faith raked a hand through her mane of her hair, shaking the strands away from her face, whilst tucking her knees against her chest. "You don't trust me," It was more of a statement than anything else. "You don't tell me anything, Tom. You treat me like I'm one of those fanciful girls that fawn over you. It's like…" Faith blew out a breath, feeling her throat tighten, constricting against her. She rested her chin on top of her bare knees, regarding Tom with mournful eyes. "It's like you're only with me to keep up some pretence. That being with me is expected of you, the you that you pretend to be."

Faith Summers watched as Tom looked up, his eyes wide, startled as he stared at her, though she continued, her green eyes seeking the confirmation through those dark depths. "I don't know who you are, Tom. You smile and hold me like you might actually _feel_ something. But then, I look at you when others, people you don't know or trust, surround you; you give them that same smile." Faith felt her eyes burn, the familiar sting of tears waiting to be shed. "I can't trust you, Tom." Faith's gaze bore into Tom's, searing green against the richness of his brown. "Not until you realise that I'm not someone you can pass off with a distracted smile and a quick kiss on the forehead. I want you to tell me everything, to stop treating me like I'm one of your little followers."

"But," Tom injected, his voice flat, his brows drawn together. "How can I trust you, when you won't trust me, Faith?" Tom could only shake his head, as if to rid this all from his mind. "You think too highly of yourself, Faith. You demand too much of me. You act as thought you are my," Tom's lips twisted in distaste. "_wife._" He saw something flash in Faith's eyes, so quick that he could not decipher it. "I have…" Tom struggled to find an appropriate word. "Become accustomed to you, Faith. I enjoy your company but I believe you have mistaken this for something else."

"And what is that?" There was something dangerous, ominous to Faith's voice. "What is it, Tom? What have I deluded myself into thinking that you feel for me?" She glared, the building rise of her anger felt good, felt secure and justified as she watched Tom open his mouth, though no words came out. "You can't say it, can you?" she jeered, a horridly cruel smirk curving her lips. "Oh, how stupid of me. I actually thought you were capable of it, but you can't even say it, can you?" Faith watched Tom glare at her, his lips fixed into a stubborn line. "I didn't think so," she muttered, moving around him so that her feet could brush against the cold stone flooring.

Faith avoided looking at Tom, those she could feel his presence, a persistent weight against her, the shadow of what was looming behind her, thought Faith was certain Tom had not moved. Instead, the young witch looked about her, searching the dimly lit room for her shoes and her school robe. She noticed them on a push, high arched armchair that stood almost regally beside an unlit fire. Her robes were folded, not neatly, but as though someone had tried, putting some care into the act. Faith looked over at the bed, the white gauze that curtained the four-poster bed, acting as a frame to the still form of Thomas Riddle.

The sight caught her breath in Faith's throat. Tom hadn't moved from where he knelt amongst the ivory sheets, his gaze lowered to the small embedment where Faith's body had lain. His hands hung loosely at his sides, his thick chestnut hair looked devilish, falling into his eyes, his tie and shirt crumpled, lips parted a fraction. He looked eerie, dangerously exquisite. The befallen, lost look upon his face made Faith's stomach twist and made her chest feel tight. It was unnerving, haunting, to see someone to whom Faith had come to regard as so determined, so driven, so strong, look so forlorn. Nothing seemed real, like the world no longer revolved around the sun. There was little to be had from knowing that Tom was just alone in this as Faith was. Just as inexperienced, scared, and blind.

Just two blind moths, drawn to the light that would undoubtedly be the end of them both.

_It shouldn't be like this. _

Of that, Faith Summers knew with all her heart and soul. It shouldn't be this hard, shouldn't be them both resisting and battling their own feelings with every fibre within them. It shouldn't be easy, but then, it shouldn't be this hard either. Faith turned away from Tom, unable to bear the image any longer. But even as she closed her eyes, it was like the sight was permanently engraved to the back of her eyelids. It was like her own body refused for her to escape it. With numb hands, Faith busied herself with slipping on her robe and shoes, not really feeling the fabric glide between her fingers, not really feeling anything at all.

When there was no excuse left, Faith reluctantly looked about her, her eyes flickering in her nervousness, attempting to find the door. There were just four walls, bearing no windows and no door. Her brows began to knot together, lips parting in question, but movement from the corner of her eyes made Faith pause. It was like the wall to the far side, where the bed was facing, was _bleeding; _only it wasn't thick crimson fluid, but a sort of solid, varnished oak. The faint flicker of the candles reflected against the well-polished wood, gleaming mutely under the semi-darkness, the door seemed like an elephant in the room. A silent taunting to them both, declaring Faith's desire to leave.

As her hand closed around the cool metal of the handle, Faith looked back, seeing the taunt, tense back of Tom. His head was still bowed to the point where he looked as if he were in prayer. The sight made Faith want to sink to the floor, for the world to stop and allow her a few moments to herself. She wanted to be alone, where no one could witness her crumble, to give in to weakness and allow the hot salty tears that burned her eyes to fall. Faith turned the handle, just as Tom's voice stopped her.

"You can't say it either, Faith."

Her hand stilled, along with every other part of Faith. He hadn't moved, hadn't even looked up, looked at _her. _His voice was low, careful and somehow, that hurt all the more. Faith looked down at her hand, closed around the handle in mid-turn, willing herself to finish off what she had started. Her hand shook, just as her lips parted. There word was there, a soft, almost tender feel against her tongue. But the more the witch willed the sound from her, the more the gentle touch became harsh, barbed. It cut deeply into her throat, her own body convulsing around the pain, only digging it in deeper. Struggling to breathe in a steady breath, Faith shook her head, though she knew Tom could not see the action. Finally, Faith did the only thing she could – she opened the door and with great care, left Tom alone, shutting the door gently behind her.

* * *

**Urgh, these two… they're so angst-y, are they not? I had a whole plan ready for this chapter but then Faith and Tom was like "Um, no." and well, _this _happened. Please tell me what you think, good or bad, since reviews seem to be motivation for me. I have already begun the next chapter so hopefully you'll get it up in the next two weeks. (I would say this weekend, but it's St Patrick's day on Saturday and well…Lisa's Irish) I kind of just want to say thank you to everyone, I don't you realise just how much your comments actually mean to me. The fact that anyone reads my stories is a blessing enough, but to actually write such beautiful messages the way you guys do… fuck, I actually am about to cry. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.**

**Anyways, I'll finish this little mini essay by leaving you with one question – what do you think of Faith? I want her to be flawed, strong yet weak. That and I'm so very curious to know what you're all thinking. I have this big plot going from the star and I've only just figured out how I want to finish this. I guess I would love to know what you're thinking. What do you think is going to happen? You never know, you might inspire me. ;)**

**All my love,**

**Lisa.**

**xoxo**


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